Silent Misery - Repercussions and Recovery
by hidinginsight
Summary: SLASH. When Gibbs offers himself to save DiNozzo from an unpleasant fate, he suffers damage he could never have anticipated. It's going to take all of Gibbs' inner strength and all of Fornell's love to make this right. GibbsWhump! recovery story with established Gibbs/Fornell. Rated M for later chapters. A continuation of "Silent Misery" by lastcrazyhorn, published with permission.
1. Chapter 1

**Silent Misery - Repercussions and Recovery**

**by HidingInSight**

* * *

_**Author's Note:**__ This story is a continuation of __**"Silent Misery"**__ by lastcrazyhorn, written and published with her permission and blessing. It's an established relationship Gibbs/Fornell slash story. Her wonderful story can be found on this site by copying and pasting the following into your browser after the fanfiction dot net part: **/s/7376557/1/Silent-Misery**. (Sorry, it won't let me link it.) If that doesn't work, please search for lastcrazyhorn in the "author" search box above and you'll find it. This story won't make a lot of sense unless you read that one first. It's not too long, so go read it. I'll wait..._

_Welcome back. Didn't you just love it? Poor, poor Gibbs. After I read the story, I was inspired to tell the tale of Gibbs' recovery, which be neither easy nor quick. As my background is in medicine and law enforcement, I chose to begin after lastcrazyhorn's section three with a trip to the hospital. Though her section four is beautiful and heart-wrenching, it cuts off avenues I wanted to explore. This story is detailed, and will be novel-length when it's finished. It'll eventually get to rated "M," but like Gibbs' recovery, it's going to take a while. Hope you enjoy the journey._

_And now, on with the story..._

* * *

Fornell secured the battered pair in his car and stood outside to call Ducky.

"It's Fornell. Gibbs and DiNozzo've been hurt," he said without preamble.

"How badly?" was Ducky's first question.

"DiNozzo's been beaten. Possible busted ribs, maybe a head injury. Gibbs was... raped," Fornell said, tripping over the word. He fought hard to keep his voice from breaking.

"My god," Ducky breathed. "Is Jethro alright?"

"No, he's not alright," Fornell said tightly, keeping his voice low so the Navy men wouldn't overhear. "He was raped!" The word didn't get any easier the second time.

Ducky heard his emotion. "Agent Fornell, I need you to focus. Is there physical damage?"

Fornell took a breath, maintaining control by the thinnest of margins. "Yes. He's bleeding. DiNozzo says it's pretty bad."

"You need to take him to a hospital. Immediately."

"He's not going to want that."

"It doesn't matter. Untreated damage of that nature can lead to serious consequences."

"Can't you take care of him?"

"I'm afraid I can't," Ducky said, and Fornell could hear the regret in his voice. "There is certain necessary equipment which I don't have access to. Plus, the sooner he can start antiretrovirals the better."

Antiretrovirals. For HIV, hepatitis, STDs. God, Fornell thought.

"Can you meet us somewhere, smooth the process? Make sure they're doing right by him?" Fornell asked.

"That I can do," Ducky said. "Though it may take me a bit to get there. Take him to the ER at Washington Hospital."

"What?" Fornell asked. Washington Hospital was the premiere private hospital in the District. He had been expecting something a little less...

"They've got a sexual assault trauma unit. They'll treat him with respect. Go now, Agent Fornell."

"On the way." He clicked off and climbed into the car. With a worried glance at where Gibbs was leaning almost limply against the door, he started up.

A minute later, DiNozzo spoke up.

"Where we going?" His voice was gravelly with pain and unexpressed emotion.

"To meet Ducky."

"This isn't the way to the Navy Yard," DiNozzo said.

"I know. He says it has to be a hospital."

Beside him, Gibbs stiffened. Fornell reached for his hand. "It has to be," he repeated.

Gibbs nodded and gripped Fornell's hand tightly. He closed his eyes, running a self-inventory. His head was pounding, pain radiating out from the point where it had been slammed into the concrete. His knees ached and the hinge of his jaw was burning from being stretched too wide during... There was a deep throbbing in his shoulders where they'd been pulled back almost to the point of dislocation. A thick knot had formed in his low back where he'd been punched and the muscles had been twisted. His ass... God, his ass... Gibbs tightened his inward focus, trying to build a compartment in his brain to store that away.

It took almost half an hour of careful one-handed driving before Fornell pulled up in front of the hospital emergency entrance. He parked in a police-only slot and shut off the engine.

"We're here, Jethro," Fornell said. Gibbs opened his eyes and looked around, his head rolling loosely on his neck.

"Where?" he asked.

"Washington Hospital," Gibbs nodded and took a breath. He reached for his seatbelt, hissing at the pain that shot across his back as he moved.

"I'll get it," Fornell said. He popped the buckle. Behind him, DiNozzo opened the rear door and slid out carefully. Tony braced his ribs with his left arm and moved around the back of the car even as Fornell got out and rounded the front. They met at the passenger door. Fornell pulled it open and put a hand on Gibbs' shoulder.

"Can you make it out?" he asked. Gibbs said nothing. He turned in his seat, a loan moan escaping.

Fornell helped him stand. When he was stable on his feet and the door was closed, Fornell got under one arm and DiNozzo reached for the other side. Gibbs shied away and DiNozzo jerked back like he'd been stung.

"I've got him," Fornell said grimly. DiNozzo nodded, a look of shock and sorrow on his face. There was something else there, too, but Fornell was too focused on Gibbs to decipher it. He clamped down on a sudden rising rage at what had happened to the man he loved. There would be time for that later.

They moved slowly toward the doors, which swooshed open at their approach. The inner doors also opened, admitting them to the ER waiting room. It spread out to their left and right with the triage desk inside a glass and painted-drywall cubicle straight ahead. A short line of people were waiting to be checked in. To the left of the cubicle was a podium with a security guard sitting on a high stool. The guard saw them come in and slid over to knock lightly on the cubicle glass. When the nurse looked up, he pointed to them. Her eyes widened briefly at the sight of them and she stood.

"Come on through," she said, her voice amplified by a speaker in the glass. She indicated a doorway to the right of the desk. A soft buzzing and DiNozzo pulled it open. Fornell moved Gibbs that way, DiNozzo trailing behind.

The nurse met them just inside the door.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Fornell, FBI," he began. "They're federal agents. A case went bad. This one was sexually assaulted." He indicated Gibbs, who twitched at the words.

She blinked. There was a noticeable hesitation before she spoke.

"Are you physically injured?" she asked Gibbs.

"Yes," Gibbs said, his voice rough.

"Okay. Let's get you into a room. Do you need a wheelchair?" the nurse asked Fornell. He shook his head.

"Follow me."

With Fornell under Gibbs' arm carrying as much of his weight as the Navy man was, they moved down the long, wide hallway. It was busy, staff moving in and out of rooms, patients being moved on wheelchairs and gurneys, several occupied beds lining the hall. Gibbs kept his head down as she lead them toward the back of the sprawling ER, seeing nothing. Just before they would have reached the end of the hall and been forced to turn, she stopped and tapped twice on a wooden door labeled 'SART'. No response came and she pushed through. She palmed a light switch and the room was bathed in harsh fluorescents.

It was a relatively large room for what it contained. The door was in the right corner, with the bulk of the room ahead and to their left. It was furnished with a wide bed, two wheeled bedside tables, a straight chair and a pair of low rolling stools. The wall to their right opposite the foot of the bed was lined with cabinets over a long counter with a sink at one end, a computer at the other. Above the middle of the bed, a large exam light on a flexible arm was pushed up almost against the ceiling, its multiple bulbs dark. At the head of the bed, a ceiling bracket held a patient monitor, multiple cables hanging coiled up on hooks beneath. A group of several large pieces of equipment Fornell couldn't immediately identify stood under plastic covers along the wall, filling the space between the head of the bed and a bathroom door in the far left corner.

"Do you think you can get into a gown?" the nurse asked.

"Think so," Gibbs said.

"Good." She took a folded gown and several brown paper bags out of one of the cupboards, then pointed to a large rectangle of white butcher paper taped to the floor next to and partly under the bed. "Stand there while you change, then go ahead and lay down. Put your clothes in these bags. The team will be right with you."

"Thank you," Fornell said. She smiled a little and turned to DiNozzo, who had followed them into the room.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

"Just beat up. Ribs might be cracked a little."

"Okay. Come with me." DiNozzo looked uncertain.

"I've got him," Fornell said again. "Get yourself taken care of."

"It's okay, Tony," Gibbs said quietly. "Go."

DiNozzo nodded and turned away.

"Hey," Gibbs called, and he turned back. "No names."

"Understood," DiNozzo said. The nurse followed him out.

Fornell turned Gibbs to lean his hip against the bed, making sure to center him over the paper. When he tried to release Gibbs, the injured man grabbed Fornell's forearm.

"This can't get out," Gibbs said. "You can't let anyone know."

"We'll talk about it later," Fornell said.

"No, now," Gibbs insisted. "There can't be a record. You gotta control the kit, keep the LEOs away."

"I will," Fornell promised.

"If it gets out, it'll ruin us," Gibbs said.

"Ruin who?" Fornell asked.

"You, me," and after a pause, "it'll kill Tony."

Fornell looked at him strangely. "What the hell happened out there, Jethro?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Not yet. Just promise me you won't let it get out."

"I won't," Fornell said. "I promise."

Gibbs nodded, relaxing a little.

"You need to get undressed. The doctor will be here in a minute."

Gibbs nodded again and released him, moving to pull at his jacket. He hissed at the burn in his shoulders from where they'd been stretched too far during...

"Let me," Fornell said softly, seeing both the pain and the memory cross Gibbs' face. Gibbs nodded again and dropped his arms.

Fornell slipped Gibbs' jacket backwards off his shoulders. He patted the pockets and removed Gibbs' notebook and a pen, putting them in his own breast pocket. He folded the jacket and set it on the bed before easing Gibbs' polo and undershirts up in a single unit. He bent Gibbs' elbows down one at a time to pull the shirts off without having to raise his arms. His bare chest was covered with bright red scratches that made Fornell frown for a second before he could hide it. He bit the inside of his mouth and smoothed his expression, glancing at Gibbs. Jethro was looking down and hadn't seen his slip.

The bruises Fornell had already noticed at Gibbs' neck were starker without the dark clothing to soften the effect. He opened one of the bags and carefully folded up the shirts, laying them in the bottom and placing the jacket on top. He picked the gown off the bed and shook it out, slipping it up over Gibbs' arms to his shoulders. Gibbs laid his head against Fornell's shoulder so the FBI man could tie the strings at the back of his neck. Fornell nuzzled Gibbs' hair with his nose for a moment, the achingly familiar smell of shampoo and sweat grounding him in this unfamiliar situation. He moved further down Gibbs' back, reaching for the waist ties. Gibbs raised his arms slightly, resting his hands on Fornell's hips while the ties were secured.

"I'm going to take off your pants now," Fornell said. He kept his voice low. Gibbs nodded, not moving his hands. Without taking his eyes off Gibbs' face, Fornell leaned down slightly and slipped his hands under the bottom of the gown, sliding it up. He was alert for any change in Gibbs. When he got to the top of Gibbs' jeans, Fornell moved his hands around to the belt buckle. No change in expression. Fornell carefully undid the belt, noting the empty holster. The bastards had taken his weapon. Reporting that was going to be a high priority. Fornell pushed Gibbs' pants button through and lowered the zipper. No change. He pressed his thumbs under the waistband of Gibbs' boxers, intending to push the jeans and underwear down at the same time.

"Better leave those," Gibbs said roughly and cleared his throat. "There's bandages underneath. Bleeding might start again."

Fornell grimly nodded his understanding and repositioned his hands. He pushed the jeans down and over Gibbs' hips. The weight of the belt, the holster, his handcuffs in their pouch and the stuff in Gibbs' pockets made the pants fall. They hit the ground with a thump that made Gibbs flinch.

"It's okay," Fornell said needlessly. "Slide up onto the bed, I'll get your shoes."

Gibbs nodded and Fornell took hold of him at the waist. Using Fornell's shoulders for balance and leverage, Gibbs pushed a hip up onto the bed until enough of his weight was there to hold him, then brought both feet up, swinging around to lay on his side with knees bent. An involuntary groan escaped and Fornell whispered a soothing word before letting him go. Gibbs moved a hand under his head on the pillow, using the other to balance himself against the mattress. He was now facing the door, his back to the far wall. Instinct, Fornell knew, even in a moment like this. Maybe especially in a moment like this. Fornell unlaced Gibbs' shoes and pulled them off one at a time, then pulled the jeans off. He could see the back of Gibbs' underwear was dark and stiff with blood, a matching but lesser stain on the inside of the jeans not quite soaking through to the outside. He swallowed hard against a sudden lump in his throat.

"Socks?" Fornell asked.

"Leave them," Gibbs said. Fornell nodded. He emptied Gibbs' pants pockets, finding his badge folder, wallet and knife, and noting the lack of cell phone. He put the items in his own pockets, then rolled up the jeans. He opened the second bag and put Gibbs' shoes in them, placing the jeans on top of the shoes before setting both bags on the floor at the end of the bed. He picked a white blanket off the foot of the bed and unfolded it, gently covering Gibbs. When he was sure Gibbs was as comfortable as he was going to get, he took off his tie, folding it into his jacket pocket before removing the jacket and hanging it on the back of the straight chair. It was noticeably warmer in the room than it had been in the hall and Fornell suspected this was going to take a while. As a precaution against panic, he clipped his badge onto his belt right next to his holstered sidearm before turning the chair to face the bed and taking a seat.

A minute later, Gibbs spoke. "I don't like this, Tobias," he said.

"I know," Fornell said simply. He leaned forward and placed a light kiss on Gibbs' forehead.

"Will you stay?" Gibbs asked, and Fornell knew what it cost him to ask.

"The entire First Marine Division couldn't drag me away," Fornell said firmly. Gibbs nodded, what might have been a smile playing at one corner of his mouth. He reached for Fornell's hand and they settled in to wait.

* * *

To be continued.

I tend to write in large chunks, and will update as real life allows. There's about 50,000 words written already, so even if things get busy, I should have at least an update or two each week for a while.

If you enjoyed, please speak up. I'd love to hear from you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Silent Misery - Repercussions and Recovery Chapter 2**

**by HidingInSight**

* * *

There was a gentle knock on the door. Gibbs' head jerked that way. Fornell murmured a word of calm and withdrew.

"Come in," he called.

A tall redhead in olive green scrubs came through holding a silver clipboard. She stopped just inside the door and guided it softly closed behind herself.

"Hello," she said. "I'm Jessica. I'm going to be your nurse today. What's your name?" Her voice was pitched low and soothing. She stayed where she was and did not approach them.

"Jethro," Gibbs said.

"Nice to meet you, Jethro. Sorry it has to be under these circumstances," she said with a smile. "Okay if I come over?"

"Sure," he said, uncertain why she was asking permission. Jessica bobbed her head and crossed to the bed. She pulled over one of the stools and straddled it, putting herself at Gibbs' eye level.

"What's your last name?" she asked.

Gibbs shook his head.

"He's a federal agent," Fornell said. "We can't put his name out there."

"Fair enough," Jessica said. "Pick something."

"What?" Gibbs asked.

"We could call you Jethro Doe, but that sounds weird. So pick something." She smiled again and Gibbs couldn't help but smile a little in return.

"Fielding," he said. Fornell frowned, not recognizing the name.

"Jethro Fielding it is," Jessica said and made a note on her clipboard.

"Who's he?" she asked, pointing her head toward Fornell.

"FBI Agent," Gibbs said. "A friend."

"Okay. You want him to leave?" she asked. "This is going to get real personal for a while."

"He stays," Gibbs said unequivocally, overlapping Fornell's declaration of "I'm staying."

"Okay," she said again. "If you change your mind, want him to leave at any time, you give me the high sign and I'll get a couple of toughies to escort him out. Kay?"

Gibbs nodded with a half-smile. She could try.

"Can I get your name, friend?" she asked.

"Fornell," he said, then added: "Tobias."

"Tobias," she repeated and offered a hand to shake. "As we move through this, if you feel things are getting too heavy and you need to step out, we can get a counselor in here to sit with Jethro."

"Won't be necessary," Fornell said.

"Okay. I want you to know it's available. Just in case." She turned back to Gibbs.

"You know anything about the SART program, Jethro?"

"Heard of it," Gibbs said. "Never paid much attention."

"That's alright," she said with a smile. "It's kind of an 'ignore us until you need us' thing. It stands for Sexual Assault Response Team. I'm a certified Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner, meaning I've been specially trained in handling these cases. I'm going to be your guide through the next couple hours. It's not going to be easy, but I'll help you through it, okay?"

"Okay," Gibbs agreed.

"I need you to know that you're safe here. The person who hurt you can't get to you here."

"Not past him," Gibbs agreed, tossing his head slightly toward the G-man. Fornell felt his heart swell a little.

"I'm glad he makes you feel safe. I'm going to take your vitals, get an IV started while we talk. That okay?" Gibbs nodded. He wondered at the 'kid glove' treatment, but had no objection to it.

"Did you undress here?" she asked, indicating the butcher paper. When Gibbs nodded, she said: "Good" and crouched down, reaching for the edges of the paper on the floor. She carefully folded it up, trapping inside whatever might have fallen from his clothes. She carried it over to the counter.

"How old are you, Jethro?" she asked as she rounded the bed to the monitors. He told her. She unwrapped a Velcroed blood pressure cuff and unlooped a set of heart monitor cables with sticky patches already attached. She stretched both of them out over the bed so she could approach him from the front.

"Where are you from?" she asked, and he answered. "You married?" She continued to make apparent small talk while she cycled the cuff, put a pulse oximeter on the tip of one of the fingers he had under his head, reached down through the neck of the gown to apply the heart monitor leads and took his temperature. The routine was familiar, and Gibbs started to relax. His heart rate and rhythm appeared on the monitor, showing a rate of 76 regular beats a minute. Fornell knew that was slightly elevated from his normal 60 to 64. Not that he was surprised.

After noting his vital signs on her clipboard, Jessica quickly went over his virtually non-existent medical history while she took an IV kit out of one of the cupboards. She smoothly started an IV in his available forearm and drew several vials of blood, then hung a bag of saline. That done, she retook the stool, clipboard in hand.

"I understand you've got some acute injuries we're going to have to take care of. I'm going to get the rest of my team in here momentarily to help with that. Are you in pain?"

"Yes," Gibbs said, surprising Fornell, who expected him to deny it.

"Tell me where your worst pain is."

"Backside," Gibbs said without hesitation. Jessica made a note.

"On a scale of 1 to 10..." she started.

Gibbs interrupted her, having heard the explanation of the pain scale many times before. "About an eight. Maybe a nine. Sharp." Which made Fornell's eyes widen further.

"Are you bleeding?" she asked.

"A little, I think," Gibbs said. "It was pretty bad. My partner bandaged it."

"Partner?" she asked.

"Work partner," Fornell clarified. "They were attacked when a case went bad."

"How is he?" she asked.

"He's here too. Possible broken ribs," Fornell said.

"Okay. After that, what hurts worst?"

"Head," Gibbs said. "Hit it on the concrete."

"Is it a headache, or actual head pain?" she asked.

"Actual head pain is about a three, but I've got a pounding headache, seven or eight." Another note.

"Kay. What else?"

"Muscle aches and strains, some impact injuries. Shoulders, low back, knees. Nothing above a five."

"Okay." She wrote rapidly. "Anything else?"

"Wrists hurt. Where they were tied."

"Can I see?"

Gibbs moved his hand out from under his head and showed her both wrists. There were red, raw marks around both, the right one almost a complete circle and oozing slightly, the left less severe as it had been partially protected by his watchband.

"Thank you," she said, and made a note. "I'm going to take your watch off, get it out of the way," she said. When Gibbs nodded permission, she pulled a pair of latex gloves out of a pocket and pulled them on, then carefully removed the watch. She stood and set it on the counter.

"We'll need to sample that. You can have it back when we're done." She removed her gloves and quickly washed her hands before returning to the stool.

"What about your neck?" she asked next.

Gibbs remembered the feeling of being strangled as the bastard wrapped a beefy hand around his throat from the front. He took a harsh breath.

"I can feel it, but it's not bad."

"Anything else?"

"No."

"Good." She made more notes. "Here's the plan: I'm going to give you some pain medication, then talk to you a bit about what happened while my team gets organized. We'll make sure the bleeding has stopped, then get into the actual exam. Okay?"

Gibbs nodded.

"We're going to take it slow, step by step, and we won't do anything without explaining it first. If at any time you want us to stop, or not do something, just say so. You're in control here."

"It's okay," Gibbs said. "I'm not your typical fragile victim. Just do what you have to."

Jessica shook her head. "It doesn't work that way, Jethro. Something really bad has happened to you, and we're not going to complicate matters by forcing you to endure anything more against your will. There's no such thing as a 'fragile victim.' There's just survivors of sexual assault. We'll take it by the numbers."

"Okay," Gibbs said, and Jessica nodded.

"Have you ever had morphine before?"

"Yes."

"Any problems with it?"

Gibbs shrugged a little. "Too much makes me throw up."

"That's good to know." She stood and crossed again to the cabinets. Setting her clipboard on the counter, Jessica opened a cabinet to reveal a medication vault. She pulled a keyboard out from under the vault, started tapping, and less than a minute later, a bell dinged. She opened the vault and removed a two vials, pushing it shut again.

"I'm going to give you some Reglan, to prevent nausea, and a titrated dose of morphine. You weigh, what, 180?"

"About that," Gibbs said.

"Okay. Here we go. You start having trouble, you let me know right away." She drew a dose out of the first vial and injected it into his IV, following it a minute later with a smaller dose from the second. She dropped both vials into her scrub shirt pocket.

"That should kick in pretty quick," she said as she retook her stool. "As we go through this process, my team and I are going to ask you a bunch of questions. Some of them are going to be very personal. Some of them you're probably not going to want to answer. But they're all important, and they're all necessary. They're the same questions we ask everyone who ends up in your position, no matter who they are. If at any time you think we're getting too personal for Tobias's ears, we'll have him step out."

"Understood," Gibbs said.

"We can also put up a privacy screen if you'd like," Jessica offered.

Gibbs rolled his eyes up to look at Fornell, asking a silent question. Fornell gave him an 'up to you' look.

"How confidential is this process?" Gibbs asked Jessica.

"Completely," she said without hesitation. "Your computer records are password protected, only accessible by me and my team. The forms I'm filling out will have only your medical record number on them. Later on, we'll talk about whether you want to get law enforcement involved or not. That decision is entirely up to you. If you decide to report your assault, your records can be redacted as necessary. So you can feel free to tell me whatever you think we ought to know."

Gibbs again consulted Fornell. "Go ahead," the FBI man said.

"Don't need a privacy screen. He's seen it all before. Many times."

Understanding dawned, and Jessica nodded. "Ah. I understand," she said. "Thank you, Jethro, that's helpful." She made a note, then turned to Fornell. "It's important you let Jethro answer the questions I ask. You're going to want to help, but I need to hear it from him. Okay?"

"Got it," Fornell said.

"Good. Let's get started." She pulled on a lanyard around her neck until a small pager-like device appeared from under her shirt. She punched three buttons on it before tucking it away again. Pulling a form out of the back of her clipboard, she squared it up on top.

"First, some questions to help us gather the best evidence we can. Have you cleaned up at all since the assault?"

"No."

"Showered, washed your hands, brushed your teeth?"

"No."

"Have you combed your hair?"

"No."

"Changed clothes?"

"Not 'til I got here."

"Good. We'll let you get cleaned up as soon as we possibly can. Okay?"

"I'd appreciate that," he said, and she smiled.

"Have you had anything to eat or drink since the assault?"

"No."

"When and what was your last meal?"

He had to think for a moment. It seemed like lunch was days ago. "Sandwich and fries, around 1:00. Last coffee maybe an hour before it happened."

"Have you gone to the bathroom since the assault?"

"No," Gibbs said.

"Have you vomited?"

"No."

"Smoked?"

"Not in years."

"Good," Jessica said, and made a bunch of checkmarks on a form before tucking it away and turning to another.

"How you doing so far?"

"Fine," Gibbs said.

"How's your pain?"

"Better. Still present."

"I can give you a little more if you need it," Jessica said. "Just let me know."

"Not yet," he said.

"Alright. Let's move on to the assault itself. Where were you when it happened?"

"An abandoned building outside Fort Washington."

"How long has it been?"

"Hour and a half, maybe two." She looked at her watch and made a note.

"Was the person who assaulted you male or female?"

"Male," Gibbs answered.

"You said you hit your head. Were you conscious for the entire event?"

"Yes."

"You didn't pass out from lack of air?" she asked.

"No," he said, and a sudden shiver ran over his body, remembering. Fornell placed a hand over his on the mattress. The beeping on the heart monitor had accelerated slightly.

"Do you know if you were drugged?"

"I was not," Gibbs answered.

"Okay. How many men assaulted you?"

"One."

"You were penetrated anally?"

"Yes."

"What did he use?"

Gibbs flinched slightly. "Excuse me?"

"Did he use any foreign objects?" she rephrased the question.

"No. Just fingers and... his penis." He cleared his throat. Fornell watched his face from a distance of less than two feet. There was pain there, and something else so faint Fornell couldn't identify it. Gibbs was trying hard to maintain his composure and was mostly succeeding. The thing he couldn't control told the tale: his heart rate had risen into the 90s.

"Did he use lubrication?"

"Spit," Gibbs said and Fornell clenched his jaw to keep silent. The indignities kept piling up.

"Did he use a condom?"

"No."

"Did he ejaculate inside you?"

"Yes."

"Anywhere on your skin?"

"No."

"Okay," she said again. "Did he perform any other sexual acts on you or have you perform any on him?" she asked.

"He made me... suck him," Gibbs said, and his voice cracked a little. Fornell squeezed his hand where it lay on the bed with a gentle, wordless murmur. Inside, the fed was screaming. He wanted to hit something. Better yet, shoot something. Or someone. When he found the son of a bitch responsible for this, he was going to kill him. As God was his witness.

Fornell suddenly realized the beeping on the heart monitor had almost doubled. Jessica saw him looking and stood, moving around the bed. She poked a few buttons and the beeping was silenced. A slight push changed the monitor angle so Fornell could no longer see the readout.

"No worries," she said to him as she sat down again. She turned back to Gibbs.

"Are you okay to keep going?" she asked.

"Yes," Gibbs said.

"How's your pain?"

"Tolerable," he said.

"Okay. Let me know when it starts to get bad again." Gibbs nodded. "Did your attacker ejaculate in your mouth?" she asked.

"No," Gibbs said.

"Was there pre-ejaculate present?"

"Yes," Gibbs said, and licked his lips.

"Did you bite him?"

"He'd've killed my partner if I had," Gibbs said and the defensiveness was clear.

"I understand," Jessica said without any trace of condemnation. "I'm not saying you should have. I'm just wondering if we'll be able to find traces of his blood in your mouth."

Gibbs shook his head. "No."

"Did you scratch him or otherwise get a hand on him in any way that might have left his DNA behind?"

"No. I couldn't. My hands were tied behind me."

"Did you fight him before he got you tied?"

"Briefly. There were three of them. They were armed. They took me down pretty fast."

"Three men?" Jessica asked, raising her eyes. "You said there was only one."

"There were three there. Only one of them... participated."

"Did either of the others touch you?"

"One of them. On my jacket. My wrists." He thought for a second, then shook his head. "That's all, I think."

"Okay." She made a note.

"Did the man who assaulted you do anything else to you?"

"Tried to choke me out. Smashed my head into the floor. Stretched my shoulders all to hell. Scratched me up pretty good against the ground when my shirt pulled up."

"How many times did you hit your head?"

Gibbs thought about it, reliving the attack in fast motion. He began to tremble slightly.

"When he was... raping me... he had one hand in my hair, pulling back hard, the other hand around my throat. When he let go, I fell forward. There was an impact, on the side. Then later, he hit the same side with his hand hard enough the other side bounced off the concrete."

"But you didn't pass out," she confirmed.

"No."

"Where?"

Gibbs raised a hand and pointed, his fingers ghosting over a soft spot he could feel in his scalp. "The damage is here."

"I'm going to take a quick look, okay?"

Gibbs nodded and moved his hand. Jessica stood and leaned over him. She parted his hair around where he'd been pointing. It took her a second before she, too, was feeling at the spot.

"We'll send you for a CT later, get that checked out." She sat down again, and Gibbs reached for Fornell's hand.

"Just a couple more questions for now. Did he perform oral sex on you?"

"No," Gibbs said.

"Fondle your genitals?"

"Yes."

"Hard enough to cause injury?" she asked.

"I don't think so," Gibbs said.

"Did any other intimate acts take place?"

"No," Gibbs said and Fornell squeezed his hand.

"Did he use any weapons on you?"

"No."

"Okay. We're almost done this part." She changed forms again.

"Have you been intimate with anyone else in the last 48 hours?"

Gibbs blinked, looked at Fornell, opened his mouth and closed it again.

"Yes," Fornell supplied. "With me. Last night."

"Were you penetrated?" she asked Gibbs.

The Navy man's face took on a slight redness, the closest Fornell had ever seen him come to blushing. He could feel an echoing heat in his own face. He couldn't believe he was about to discuss his bedroom activities with this stranger. He didn't talk about stuff like that with anyone. Well, no one but Jethro anyway. Finally he spoke.

"Fingers. And toys," he said and cleared his throat. He hoped she wouldn't ask for specifics.

"Okay," Jessica said. Her tone and expression were purely clinical, and both men were grateful. "Remember, Tobias, I really need Jethro to answer these questions."

Fornell made a 'go ahead' gesture with his free hand.

"Did you get any ejaculate on your skin?" she asked.

"Yes," Gibbs said, the memory increasing the redness. He coughed a little.

"Have you showered since then?" she asked.

"Twice," Gibbs said.

"Good. Have you been on the receiving end of anal intercourse within the past five days?"

"Why do you need to know that?" Gibbs asked, his voice hardening a little. It was clear he thought that question was one step too far. Questions about the last day or two he understood. Beyond that seemed a little more invasive than necessary. Jessica didn't appear bothered by his tone.

"We consider DNA to potentially be present up to 120 hours after it's deposited, if conditions are right. The conditions inside the rectal cavity aren't the best, but we've recovered samples from there days after deposit in other cases. So we need to know if anyone other than your attacker might have left anything behind in that time period." Again, her tone was clinical and without judgment.

Gibbs took a breath. "Yes. Friday night, and Sunday morning. And before you ask, it was him." He raised Fornell's hand a little.

She turned back to Fornell. "Tobias, we're going to need a sample of your DNA to separate out any contributions of yours that might still be present."

"That's fine," Fornell said.

There was a buzzing sound from Jessica. She pulled out the same device she'd tapped at earlier and looked at it.

"My team is ready. They'll be here momentarily."

Gibbs nodded. Jessica continued.

"Was there anyone else in the last five days?" she asked, looking at Gibbs again.

"No," Gibbs said.

"Would your answer be different if Tobias wasn't here?" she asked, staring directly at him and looking for the tell.

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay. That's all I have for now," she said. "When we're done, before you go home, we'll have a conversation about potential exposure to sexually transmitted infections, including HIV and hepatitis. For now, you just need to know that a course of prophylactic antiretroviral medications may keep you from developing diseases even if you were exposed."

"I understand," Gibbs said.

"There's some potential side effects we need to talk about before you decide whether or not you want to start the full drug course, but the first dose should be administered as soon as possible after exposure for best effect. We can give you the first dose now, and if you decide after we talk not to follow through with the program, it won't hurt you."

"Do it," Gibbs said.

There was another light knock on the door, and Gibbs started, his head whipping that way.

"It's alright, Jethro. It's my team," Jessica explained. "Are you ready?"

Gibbs nodded. He released Fornell's hand and returned his own to the mattress. Fornell sat back a little.

"We're ready," Jessica called out, and the door opened. An Hispanic man and two black women, all in scrubs, came through. Gibbs got a look at the man and his body stiffened, his breath drawing in with an audible gasp. Jessica's eyes narrowed.

"Jethro? What's wrong?" she asked.

Gibbs shook his head rapidly, feeling pain spike in his head.

"Jethro?" Fornell asked. "What is it?"

"He..." Gibbs said, then drew another deep breath. "Nothing."

"It's something," Fornell said. "What?"

"It's me," the Hispanic man said, and Fornell could hear regret in his voice. He stopped just inside the door. The two women moved into the room toward the opposite wall, staying away from the bed.

"Jethro?" Jessica said. "This is Marc. He's our doctor. He's not going to hurt you."

"I know," Gibbs said. An involuntary shiver moved over him.

"Is it that he's male, or is there something more specific?" Jessica asked.

"He..." Gibbs stopped, took a breath, tried again. "He looks like..."

* * *

To be continued...

That's it for now. Hope you've enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think so far.


	3. Chapter 3

**Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 3**

**by HidingInSight**

* * *

_Previously..._

_An Hispanic man and two black women, all in scrubs, came into the exam room. Gibbs got a look at the man and his body stiffened, his breath drawing in with an audible gasp. Jessica's eyes narrowed._

_"Jethro? What's wrong?" she asked._

_Gibbs shook his head rapidly, feeling pain spike in his head._

_"Jethro?" Fornell asked. "What is it?"_

_"He..." Gibbs said, then drew another deep breath. "Nothing."_

_"It's something," Fornell said. "What?"_

_"It's me," the Hispanic man said, and Fornell could hear regret in his voice. He stopped just inside the door. The two women moved into the room toward the opposite wall, staying away from the bed._

_"Jethro?" Jessica said. "This is Marc. He's our doctor. He's not going to hurt you."_

_"I know," Gibbs said. An involuntary shiver moved over him._

_"Is it that he's male, or is there something more specific?" Jessica asked._

_"He..." Gibbs stopped, took a breath, tried again. "He looks like..."_

* * *

"The man who hurt you was Hispanic?" Jessica guessed. Gibbs nodded again.

"Is John on duty?" Jessica asked, looking back over her shoulder.

"No," Marc said. "It's gonna have to be me." He turned his attention to Gibbs. "Would it be alright if I sat down, if we talked a bit?" he asked.

Another hard breath, and Gibbs tried to force himself to calm. "It's fine," he said. "You're fine."

"No, it's not fine," the doctor said. "I can see you're trying to make it fine, but it's not." One of the women who'd come in pushed the second rolling stool toward Marc, who caught it with his foot. He moved it to a position several feet from the bed and sat down. Jessica pushed her own stool back a little so she, Marc and Fornell were in a rough half-circle. Gibbs looked at Fornell, his eyes slightly wild. Fornell tried to send encouraging vibes his way even as he silently seethed over how wrong this was. Jethro Gibbs wasn't afraid of anything. At least not anything like the mere presence of a man.

"Let's just talk a bit," Marc said. His voice was low and calm. "My name is Marc Ramirez. Actually, my mother would want me to say it's Marcos Ramon Antonio Esquivez Ramirez. But most people just call me Marc." He smiled. Gibbs didn't look at him, instead still searching Fornell's face.

"I've been a doctor almost 15 years. I've worked in the ER here for 12 years, and I've been a sexual assault trauma specialist for the last eight. I've got a wife, Katherine, whom I love very much, and three kids who think I hung the moon. Except lately my oldest, Annabelle, is starting to wonder if Daddy really knows all that. She turned 11 last birthday. I'd hoped teenagerness would hold off a couple more years."

Fornell chuckled a little, though everyone could hear it was slightly forced. "Sounds just like Emily," Fornell said to Gibbs. He looked at the doctor. "My daughter's 12. I know what you mean."

Marc smiled at him before continuing. "In my spare time – what little of it I have – I like to play basketball. When I can get away, I like to sail. I've got a 30-foot sleeper I sometimes take down the coast with my family." Gibbs glanced at the doctor, looked away. Marc took that as an encouraging sign.

"Jethro builds boats," Fornell said.

"Oh yeah? What kind?" Marc asked.

After a long moment when they all doubted he was going to speak, Gibbs cleared his throat. "Amigo. Twenty-two foot off-shore cruiser."

"That's a nice boat," Marc said. "Where are you building it?"

"Finished the last one a couple years ago," Gibbs said. "Sailed it to the Gulf, gave it to my Goddaughter."

They talked about the boat and the trip for several minutes while the two women who'd come in leaned against the counter and waited. Everyone could feel Gibbs beginning to relax.

When the conversation died, Marc returned to the business at hand.

"So who's this?" Marc asked, gesturing to Fornell.

"A friend," Gibbs said.

"An armed friend," Marc said.

"They're federal agents," Jessica supplied. "Jethro and Tobias are together, though they'd like to keep that confidential."

"Not a problem," Marc said. He focused on Gibbs. "I'm glad he's here for you. It's really unfortunate that I resemble the man who hurt you. I'm the only doctor on duty today who's trained to conduct the forensic medical exam that's necessary, so we're going to have to work together."

Gibbs nodded, reluctantly.

"As a federal agent, you must have been trained in witness identification," Marc said.

"Yeah," Gibbs said.

"Good. Then do me a favor," Marc said. "Close your eyes and picture the man who did this." Gibbs' eyes widened for a second. "Just for a few seconds," Marc said. Gibbs nodded and closed his eyes.

"You see him?" Marc asked after a moment. Gibbs nodded. Another shiver ran over him.

"Now open your eyes and look at me," Marc instructed. Gibbs did. "In what ways do I look different than him?"

Gibbs considered it, staring at Marc's face until it became almost uncomfortable. "You don't look like him at all," Gibbs said and he finally relaxed.

"Good," Marc said with a smile. "I'm glad. You think we can get started now?"

"Yeah," Gibbs said with a single nod.

"We're going to be doing a lot of work behind you. We'll talk you through it, but if you need to take another look at me, remind yourself it's okay, you let me know."

Another nod.

"Alright, I'll give you back to Jessica now," Marc said. He pushed his stool away from the bed before standing. Jessica rolled back into position.

"Jethro, this is Josie and Latisha," Jessica said, and both women waved a greeting. "Josie's an RN, and Latisha's our team's medical assistant." She looked up at them and indicated Fornell. "Tobias is going to stay at Jethro's request." They nodded understanding.

"Jethro has agreed to the first dose of prophylaxis, if you're ready with it," Jessica said. The nurse Josie produced two capped and filled syringes from the pocket of her scrub shirt. She handed them off to Jessica.

"This one is a one-time dose for sexually transmitted infections," she said, holding up one. "This one is the antiretrovirals for HIV. We call them ARVs. The long-term program is pills, but we don't want you drinking anything yet, so they both go in your arm. Is that okay?"

When Gibbs nodded, she pulled the blanket back and the sleeve of the gown up far enough to expose his upper arm. She swabbed a small area with an alcohol prep pad, blew on it for several seconds, then quickly injected both medications. Gibbs didn't flinch. That small pain he could handle.

"I'm going to bring the team up to speed real quick. You doing okay?" Jessica asked.

"Fine," Gibbs said.

"Need more morphine?"

"Could use it," he admitted. Jessica drew up and delivered another dose into the IV.

While the three newcomers washed their hands and pulled on exam gloves, Jessica gave a bare-bones summary of the information Gibbs had given her. Much of it was in medical jargon and an in-group shorthand that was difficult to follow. When she was done, Jessica returned to the stool.

"Okay," Marc said, coming around to stand behind Jessica. "We're going to see about your injuries, then do a quick exam and start gathering some evidence. That okay?"

"Yes," Gibbs said.

"If you need me to stop, or need a reminder of who I am, you speak up, okay?" Gibbs nodded. "Tobias, keep an eye on him for us. Rat him out if you think he's hiding something he needs, okay?"

"Count on it," Fornell said and Gibbs rolled his eyes a little.

With Jessica sitting in his line of sight and keeping up a near-constant stream of narration, and Marc explaining everything he was about to do before he did it, the exam proceeded. Marc pushed the blanket out of the way and untied the waist of the gown before carefully cutting through Gibbs' boxers and peeling back the makeshift bandages. Latisha started taking pictures with a digital camera very similar to the ones they used in the field, Gibbs flinching every time the flash went off. Marc and Josie used wipes to remove dry and wet blood and other fluids, dropping them in evidence bags which were sealed and initialed before being set aside. They used an ALS wand to examine his backside, and long cotton swabs to gather samples from various places, slipping the tips down into covering tubes before they, too, were sealed into evidence bags. Fornell could find no fault with their forensic technique. He noticed there was always at least one gloved hand somewhere on Gibbs, the better not to startle him with sudden contact. Nonetheless, his trembling resumed shortly after the exam began. Fornell offered his hand again and it was taken, gratefully. He rested his other hand on the bed above Gibbs' head, brushing his fingers lightly over his hair. His focus was entirely on the man before him. It had to be: The rage was still lurking.

Gibbs tried to keep his breathing regular, only occasionally hitching when some deep pain spiked, or when the doctor's touch became too intimate. He clenched his jaw against the humiliation of the far-too-personal exam and silently prayed they'd hurry up and be done with it. He held Fornell's hand tightly and watched his face, seeking bad news. Fornell just stared at him with a look of tenderness rarely seen in public and kept rubbing his head.

After what felt like half of forever but was probably less than 10 minutes, Marc stripped off the top of several pairs of exam gloves he was wearing and came around to speak to Gibbs face to face. He pulled up the other stool and sat.

"You've got three pretty significant anal tears, Jethro," Marc said. "They've stopped bleeding, so you're not in any immediate danger."

"Okay," Gibbs said. His voice was rough. Fornell squeezed his fingers.

"We're going to have to get inside to see how deep the damage goes."

Gibbs nodded again.

"You know our best evidence against your attacker is going to be the ejaculate he left inside you. You don't need to decide now whether you want to report this, but it's the only chance we have to gather the evidence, so it's best to do it now, even if you don't think you're going to report."

"I know," Gibbs said and took a deep breath.

"Okay. I'm going to open you up with an anoscope. It looks like this." He held a hand over Gibbs' back and Josie handed him the scope. He showed it to Gibbs. It looked like a large stainless steel spoon with a four inch long cone where the bowl should be. "Once it's inserted, the light on it will let me visualize the damage," he indicated a tiny light on the inner surface of the scope. "It's also got an ALS attached so I can illuminate potential evidence."

Gibbs nodded again.

"I'm going to start with a numbing agent, to loosen you up and relax the muscles so the scope goes in easier. I'll have to spread it into the inner ring of muscle."

"I understand," Gibbs said.

"This is not going to be easy. And I'm sorry we have to do it."

"Me too," Gibbs said.

"Anytime you want me to stop, just speak up, okay?"

"Just get it over with."

"Okay." He turned to Jessica. "How much morphine has he had?"

Before she could respond, there was another knock on the door, and everyone in the room looked that way. It was clear from their expressions they weren't expecting anyone else.

"Stand by everyone," Jessica said and went to the door. She pulled it open a few inches, keeping her body in the opening. She spoke briefly to someone, then turned back.

"There's a Dr. Mallard here. Says he's Jethro's doctor."

"He is," Gibbs said. A visible change came over him as he steeled himself and pulled his hand away from Fornell's. A moment before, he'd been passively suffering. Now, he was strong and in control. On the surface, at least. Fornell was impressed, if saddened that Gibbs felt the need. "Let him in," Gibbs said.

"You sure?" Jessica asked.

"We asked him to come," Fornell said.

Marc pulled the blanket back into place to cover Gibbs and nodded his permission. Jessica opened the door the rest of the way and allowed Ducky through.

"Jethro," Ducky said. "How are you?"

"Hey Duck," Gibbs said. "Having kind of a bad day."

"It would seem so," Ducky said. He turned to the medical personnel. "How bad is it?" he asked.

"I'm Dr. Ramirez, his attending physician," Marc said. "We're just getting started," he added vaguely.

"Have you seen Tony?" Gibbs asked.

"No, I came to you first."

"Find him, stay with him. He's in bad shape," Gibbs said.

"According to Agent Fornell, you're far worse off than he is," Ducky said, reproach clear.

Gibbs shook his head. "The bastard was going to hurt him. I made a deal. Me for him."

Realization dawned almost instantly, in both Ducky and Fornell. "And then Anthony was made to watch," Ducky said.

"Yes," Gibbs said.

"In that case, you're right. I'll be with him. I have my cell phone should you need me."

"Make sure he understands it was my choice, not his fault," Gibbs said.

"I'll try," Ducky said.

"And Ducky, we're not using names today," Fornell said.

Ducky nodded his understanding and quickly left, the door swinging shut behind him.

The staff in the room was silent for a long moment. Jessica broke it.

"Tony's the one who bandaged you," she said. When Gibbs nodded, she made a beckoning gesture to Latisha, who came around. The two women spoke in low tones for half a minute before Latisha removed her gloves and went to wash her hands.

"Tish's going to make sure Tony's getting what he needs from us," she explained. "Will he talk to a crisis counselor if I send him one?"

"Maybe," Gibbs said. "Worth a try. Send a male if you've got one."

Latisha quickly dried her hands and left the room.

"Are you ready to continue?" Marc asked, and Gibbs nodded, reaching for Fornell's hand again.

"How much morphine has he had?" Marc repeated his earlier question.

"Six," Jessica said.

"Give him another two," he said, and she did. Marc pulled back the blanket.

"Jethro, we need to reposition you a little, to make this easier. Is that alright?"

When Gibbs nodded, Marc and Josie began gently helping him change position. He ended up mostly on his front, left knee bent up as far as it would go and right leg straight, right arm behind him with his hand by his hip, left hand still held in Fornell's, right side of his face against the pillow.

"Is that alright?" Marc asked when they were done. Gibbs nodded.

"Good. That's good," Marc said. "Okay. Here we go."

The exam resumed. After a minute, Gibbs felt the doctor's gloved finger in the cleft of his ass and he tensed, the shivering starting up again. As the doctor's focus tightened and cool cream was pressed against and into his anus, Gibbs involuntarily jerked at the sting and the violation.

"Easy, Jethro," Marc said soothingly. "How's that pain level?"

"Fine," Gibbs said, his voice slightly strangled. Fornell leaned forward and rested his chin on the bed so his face and Gibbs' were mere inches apart, sharing the same air. He held Gibbs' eyes and petted his hair, doing what he could to keep his old friend calm.

The doctor continued his work. After a few more swipes with the cream, he paused.

"I'm going inside now, Jethro. Try to relax."

Gibbs nodded. A second later, he let out a single involuntary cry and jerked again as the doctor pressed against his open wounds and slipped his finger through the tight ring of muscle.

"Relax," Fornell whispered. "It's alright. I'm here." He could see the muscles on Gibbs' jaw jumping and knotting with tension. Gibbs' eyes were wide, the whites showing all the way around. The all-over trembling intensified.

"Hang in there, Jethro," Marc said. He used his left hand to press down slightly on Gibbs' hip, trying to keep him still, and pushed in further.

As Fornell continued to whisper words of calm, Marc finished his task and withdrew.

"How you doing, Jethro?" he asked, wiping the remains of the cream on a towel.

"Cold," Gibbs said, his teeth chattering when he unclenched his jaw.

"I can help with that," Jessica said. She stood and crossed quickly to a silver cabinet, opening it and returning with a stack of three blankets. She layered them over him. Fornell felt heat coming off them where the blankets covered his hand, still clenched tight in Gibbs'. Shock blankets, from a warmer.

"We're going to let you rest for a few minutes," Marc said. "Let that cream do its thing. We'll get back to it when you're ready. Jess, give him another two."

While Marc and Josie washed up and left, Jessica injected another two milligrams of morphine into his IV.

"Go ahead and get as comfortable as you can. There's no rush to continue. We'll start again when you're ready."

Gibbs nodded and slid his right knee down, burrowing slightly into the mattress.

"That BP cuff is set to check your pressure automatically every half hour. It's going to go off again in about 10 minutes. Try not to let it startle you," she said with a smile. "Anything I can do for you before I go?"

"Mouth," Gibbs said through still-trembling teeth.

"I don't understand," she said.

"Can you take samples from his mouth before you go so he can rinse?" Fornell said. "He can probably still taste the guy."

"Oh, of course," Jessica said, and for the first time, they saw her professional demeanor falter. "I'm sorry. We were focused on the injuries. I can do that right now."

She took a handful of sample swabs off the bedside table and brought them around.

"I'll need to be there," she said of Fornell's position. He stood and started to move out of the way, Gibbs still gripping his hand.

"I'm not going anywhere," Fornell said. "I promise. I just have to get out of the way."

Gibbs nodded and reluctantly let him go. Jessica pushed the rolling stool over in front of him. She had him open his mouth and shone a penlight inside, looking for injuries. She saw several places where it looked like Gibbs had bitten himself.

"You've got some damage in here," Jessica said. "Did you do that to yourself?"

"Yes," Gibbs said, his voice as shaky as his body.

"Okay." Avoiding the damaged areas the best she could and using a firm hand against his quivering jaw, she made quick work of taking samples from his lips and the inside of his mouth. She carefully traced around his teeth and tongue, along the roof of his mouth, and as far back as she could go without making him gag.

"Done," she said when she had six swabs finished. "Hang on a minute." She stood up, moving to bag the swabs and place them with the other evidence. She went once more to the cabinets, returning with several packages of a different kind of swab.

"You can't get up to brush your teeth yet, but these will help," she said. She handed the packages to Fornell. "They're supposed to taste like lemon."

"Thank you," Gibbs said. The trembling was starting to ease.

"You're welcome. I'll be back to check on you in a bit. There's a light over the door that'll keep anyone from disturbing you. If anyone knocks, it'll be us."

She left, the door closing softly behind her. Fornell sat down and tore open one of the packages. He held the moist swab out to Gibbs, who took it and stuck it in his mouth. He started gently, but quickly picked up speed until he was sawing the swab back and forth across his teeth.

"Hey, slow down," Fornell said. When Gibbs didn't respond, he reached up and wrapped his hand around Gibbs'. The injured man resisted for a second, then relaxed.

"Slow down," Fornell repeated. Gibbs pulled the swab out. It had begun to fall apart. Fornell took it and tore open a second package. This time when Gibbs took the stick, Fornell kept a hand on it and guided the pace.

It took two more packages before Gibbs was satisfied. He stilled his hand, opened his mouth and let Fornell take the last swab.

"Better?" Fornell asked. Gibbs nodded. Fornell tucked the blankets back around him. Gibbs slipped his hand out and Fornell took it.

They sat together for several minutes while Gibbs' breathing and heart rate settled and the trembling settled to an occasional tremor. Fornell found his thoughts drifting to his next moves: As soon as Gibbs was secure, check in with Gibbs' team, find out what they had so far on the son of a bitch who'd done this, go after the bastard himself. Gibbs would need to take some time, but Fornell didn't. And when he found him...

"I need to know how Tony's doing," Gibbs said, dragging Fornell back to the present. Fornell nodded.

"I'll call Ducky."

* * *

To be continued...

Next up: How's Tony holding up? And how serious are his injuries?

Reviews gratefully accepted.


	4. Chapter 4

**Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 4**

**by HidingInSight**

* * *

The triage nurse showed DiNozzo into a double room just around the end of the hall from where they'd left Gibbs and Fornell. The other bed was occupied, but the curtain was pulled around it and all Tony could hear was the soft beeping of a heart monitor. He gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, careful to protect his ribs, and waited. He felt a little dizzy, kind of nauseated, generally unstable.

He was trying hard not to think about what had just happened. Gibbs had traded himself for Tony. Sacrificed his own ass – literally – to prevent further harm from coming to him. As second in command, Gibbs' right hand man, it was Tony's job to watch Gibbs' back. And he had failed, miserably.

Tony braced his ribs and laid over sideways onto the bed, rolling onto his back when that position was too painful.

They'd been searching an abandoned building for evidence connecting its owner of record to a loan shark operation. The operation's enforcers had been using rape as a means of punishment for those who were late paying the vig. Only it was rarely the borrower who got punished; it was almost always the borrower's spouse or children. Both females and males had been victims, the youngest only 16. No one knew how long they'd been getting away with it, since the victims had all been too afraid to call the police. Their mistake had come when one of the thugs had raped a Navy Lieutenant whose husband had a gambling problem. She – and her reluctant husband – had gone straight to NCIS and spilled the whole story. Gibbs' team followed the money and found more than a dozen victims. They'd also found whispers of the identity of the man in charge of the operation and discovered a collection of properties he owned in and around Washington, D.C.

Gibbs and DiNozzo had paired up to check out the building outside Fort Washington while McGee and David searched a second location in the District. The men had gone opposite directions through the maze of small rooms, a precautionary clearing of the building before they started searching for evidence that might have been left behind. It was a routine task, something they'd done a thousand times before. And the building was supposed to be empty.

There was just Tony, moving through the building, silence all around except for the faint sounds of his feet moving across the dusty floors and what he assumed was Gibbs' feet doing the same somewhere to his left. Then there was an explosion in his head and he went down. He'd woken up in a small internal room, already beaten and bound. He'd immediately seen Gibbs across the room on his knees, also bound. Then the well-dressed bastard who seemed to be in charge had started pawing him before 'giving' him to his goon, Alejandro. DiNozzo would remember that name – and the face that went with it – until the day he died. He'd known what was about to happen and had tried to prepare himself for it. Not that there was really any way to prepare for rape.

Then Gibbs had changed the game, offering himself in Tony's place.

Why the hell had Gibbs done that? Not that deep down Tony wasn't glad he had. He'd watched that bastard raping his boss, and the overwhelming emotion he'd felt was gratitude. Followed immediately by shame. It should have been him, damn it. He was the one who should have taken it. Still, he didn't think he'd have endured it as well as Gibbs had. Even now, when he thought about being on the receiving end of... that...

Tony's stomach rolled. He couldn't hold it this time, and he barely managed to get back up on his side before he threw up all over the edge of the mattress and onto the floor. The pain that brought to his chest and ribs was instantly overwhelming and Tony fought blackness. He heard a high-pitched moaning sound and was startled to realize it was coming from him.

He'd emptied his stomach but the spasms were still ongoing when a nurse poked her head into the room. She took in the scene and strode over.

"It's alright, breathe through it. It'll pass." She rubbed his upper shoulder and after a minute, the spasms did stop and he rolled back flat. She saw the damage to his face and frowned.

"Did you hit your head?"

"Yes," Tony groaned out, squinting at her through his one open eye.

"Did you tell them that at triage?" she asked.

"No," Tony said.

"Well congratulations, my friend. You just earned yourself a head CT. And a better room." She stepped over to a small sink and brought back a wet washcloth and a small stack of towels.

"Wipe your face," she said, handing the wet cloth to him. She dropped a towel on the floor to cover the puddle of vomit and moved it around with her foot as she slipped on a pair of gloves out of a box on the wall. She bent to wipe the floor, used another towel to wipe up what had landed on the sheet, and laid a third clean towel over the wet spot on the mattress.

"What's your name?" she asked as she put the dirty towels into a laundry bin. He wiped his mouth, spitting into the cloth.

"Tony DeMarco," he said. It was the name of one of his Ohio State frat brothers. It would do for this.

"Have you been through registration?" she asked. She took the dirty cloth from him and gave him a clean one, then stripped off her gloves and dumped them in the trash.

"No. The nurse just brought me back here," he said.

"Okay, we'll get that taken care of in a bit. Hang on, we're going for a ride." She raised the rails and kicked the bed's brakes loose, pulling it out of the room.

Back down the long hall toward the front of the ER. Tony kept his eyes closed, the nausea threatening to overwhelm again. He didn't think it was from any head injury. What Gibbs had endured in the name of saving him, what he was probably going through right now... Tony had read his share of sexual assault kit reports. He knew the routine. Knew there would be a physical exam that in many ways would be as bad as the rape itself. Pictures would be taken. Gibbs' entire body would be swabbed and sampled. They would pull hair samples out by the roots, to compare his living hair to hairs that might have been left behind by that bastard. Fine-toothed combs would be run through hair never intended to be combed. All made worse by Gibbs' fiercely, aggressively, intensely private nature. The exam would be nothing short of a second rape.

Tony grabbed the rail to pull himself onto his side and retched again. Nothing came out but yellow bile.

The bed turned and Tony opened his good eye. Though he'd never been a patient at Washington Hospital, he recognized the room immediately: Trauma.

From that point, it was a blur of people talking to each other and to him, calling out orders, arranging for tests, examining his head, his face, his ribs. Tony laid back and let it happen, participating only when necessary, lost in a haze of guilt and shame, occasionally overcome with nausea and waves of dizziness.

After he'd been fully examined, after CT scans had been performed and many x-rays had been taken, after he'd been dosed with anti-nausea meds and pain meds and the treatment was over for now, Tony laid back on the semi-reclined bed and forced his mind back to the matter at hand. He refused to let himself think any more about the attack, instead focusing on the aftermath. The call to Fornell, his light-speed arrival, Gibbs holding his hand all the way to the hospital...

Tony had long suspected there was something developing between his boss and the senior FBI agent. It had happened so gradually, over so many years, that he didn't really believe what his gut was telling him when it started to whisper that maybe the reason Gibbs had stopped marrying redheads was because he'd found what he needed in Fornell. The first time he'd put any serious thought into it, he'd had to laugh. Gibbs as a gay man? It just didn't compute.

Still, the signs were there. The way they fed off each other on cases, like an old married couple. The concern Fornell had shown for Gibbs after the explosion at the Navy Yard. The concern going the other way when Fornell was shot. He'd watched Gibbs rub Fornell's back as he sat on the ambulance tailboard and wondered.

More signs: Gibbs hadn't been involved with anyone in longer than Tony could remember. They'd thought he was having a fling with that doctor from Psyops, but in the aftermath, she disappeared and it seemed they'd been wrong. For reasons unexplained, Gibbs' spare room had stopped being a spare room a long time ago. The older man had never mentioned what he'd turned it into, never invited Tony to see what it had become. Then there was the fact that lately it seemed Fornell whenever Tony showed up at Gibbs' house, Fornell was already there.

When it started to add up, Tony had kept his thoughts to himself. Because really, it was crazy. Gibbs and Fornell? Really? No way.

He knew better now. If their clasped hands on the ride to the hospital hadn't convinced him, the tender way Fornell almost carried Gibbs into the ER, the looks of concern bordering on fear, the absolute trust Gibbs had shown in Fornell despite what he'd just been through... taken together, it more than sealed the deal.

Which brought Tony to another concern: Gibbs had shied away from his touch. That had never, ever happened before. No matter what they'd been through, Gibbs had trusted him always. It had taken some time to develop, but once the trust was there it had always been Gibbs and DiNozzo, DiNozzo and Gibbs. Anticipating each other's moves, knowing each other's strengths and weaknesses, and playing them like maestros. Now, it seemed that trust had been shattered in a single act of barbarity. Because of Tony's failure.

"Anthony?"

A voice he knew. Tony opened his one available eye to find Ducky standing at the foot of the bed. They were otherwise alone.

"Ducky," Tony said.

"How are you doing?" Ducky asked. He moved over next to the bed and reached for DiNozzo's wrist. Tony let him take it.

"I'll live. How is he?"

"They're still examining him," Ducky said. Satisfied at the pulse he could feel, he carefully set Tony's hand back on the mattress.

"I'm fine. Go take care of him," Tony said.

"He's in good hands. Agent Fornell is with him. He asked me to see to you."

"Well I'm fine," Tony repeated. Ducky looked around the trauma suite, located a chair, and dragged it over next to the bed.

"Can you tell me what happened, Tony?"

Tony told the tale, the info they'd gotten about the building's possible connection to the loan shark, the decision to split up and clear it, the footsteps Tony now realized had not been Gibbs', the blow to the head, waking up in the office with Gibbs and the three men.

"He gave me to his goon. I was about to get screwed. For real. Gibbs started taunting him, turned the focus away from me, took my place. Why the hell did he do that, Ducky?"

"If you could get him to answer at all, I imagine he'd say he did it because it was his responsibility to keep you safe," Ducky said.

"And it's my responsibility to keep him safe," Tony said.

"Indeed," Ducky said. "And if the choice had been yours, would you not have done the same thing? Taken the punishment yourself?"

"In a New York minute," Tony said.

"Then you must try to let it go. The choice was not yours, it was his, and he made it."

"I should have done something, tried to do something," Tony said. "I just laid there while that bastard..."

"Anthony, you mustn't do this to yourself," Ducky chided. "You'd been badly beaten. You were unarmed, tied up... What do you think you should have done?"

Tony shook his head, then stopped at the echoes of pain that caused. The drugs they'd given him were good, but he still had to be careful. "Something," Tony said.

After a minute, he spoke again.

"He wouldn't let me touch him."

"I beg your pardon?" Ducky said.

Tony sighed. "After they left, I cut us loose, got him up, bandaged the wounds." He swallowed hard. "It was like any other time he's been hurt. He leaned on me, trusted me to do what needed to be done. We walked almost two miles to find help. I half carried him the whole way, he was in so much pain. After Fornell got there, when we got to the hospital, I went to help him again and he flinched. Like he was afraid of me. Like he didn't trust me."

Ducky gave a sigh of his own. "He's been injured in ways he doesn't yet understand," he said. "His reactions are going to be... unpredictable... for a while. You musn't take it personally."

"He was okay with Fornell," Tony pointed out, trying not to pout.

"Agent Fornell," Ducky said, "is a special case. They've known one another for many years. They share an ex-wife. Their bond is very strong."

"Stronger than ours?" Tony asked. "For twelve years, Gibbs and I have worked together eight, ten hours a day, five, six days a week. The things we've been through... How could anything be stronger than that?"

Ducky smiled a little. "Between them, it's different," he said.

Tony considered him for a moment through his one open eye. "There's something going on, between those two," he said.

"I do believe there is," Ducky confirmed.

There was a tap on the wall next to the entrance to the trauma suite. Ducky looked around.

"Hello, are you Tony?" a young woman asked. Tony angled his head, trying to see her. She stepped closer to the bed and put herself in his line of sight. A man who looked to be a few years younger than Tony was standing just behind her shoulder.

"Yes," he acknowledged.

"I'm Latisha, from the Sexual Assault Response Team. We're working with your partner, Jethro?"

"How is he?" Tony asked immediately. Latisha smiled at him.

"He's medically stable," she said. "I'm afraid that's all I can tell you unless I get his permission."

"Of course," Tony said with resignation.

"They're taking care of him," Ducky said again.

The young man stepped forward. "Hi Tony, I'm Brian. I'm a rape crisis counselor, I work with SART. Jethro asked me to come talk to you."

"Why?" Tony asked, frowning. "It wasn't me who was..." he trailed off.

"He told us a little about what happened," Latisha said. "He thought you might want to talk to someone about it."

"That's not necessary," Tony said.

"Tony, may I have your permission to review your medical records?" Ducky asked.

"Well, yeah," Tony said, like that was one of the dumber questions he'd heard today.

"Good. I shall do that now. Perhaps this young lady can give me access?"

"Right this way," Latisha said, and they left the suite. Brian took the seat Ducky had left.

"I sense a conspiracy," Brian said.

Tony had to smile. "Family," he said. "Always getting in your business, thinking they know what's best for you."

"It's good to have family," Brian said. "How are you related?"

"We're not," Tony said. "Don't have to be related to be family."

"That is true," Brian said. "Some people never get that blessing."

Tony gave a little laugh, which turned into a groan.

"Are you alright?" Brian asked.

"Broken rib," Tony said.

"Do you need more pain medication?" he asked.

"No. Just need to remember not to laugh," he said. "I was thinking about family. I didn't have family for years. Now sometimes I think I've got way more than I want."

"So who is Jethro to you?" he asked, and Tony almost laughed again, swallowing it down.

"Don't you have any easy questions?"

"Okay," Brian said with a smile. "How about this one: How do you feel?"

"Beat up," Tony said immediately. "But all in all, survivable."

"Most things are," Brian said. When Tony frowned, he elaborated. "Survivable."

"Guess we're going to find out," Tony said. For several minutes, there was nothing but the beeping of monitors.

"You were there, when Jethro was assaulted," Brian said finally.

"Yeah," Tony said, and closed his eye against the immediate memory.

"Want to tell me about it?" Brian asked.

"No," Tony said, opening his eye again.

"Okay," Brian said. "Jethro wants to be sure you know it was his choice, and it wasn't your fault."

Tony took a shallow breath, then another. "It was supposed to be me. The guy had already told his thug he could have me. Gi..." He paused, respoke. "...Jethro put himself in the line of fire. Took it for me."

"You don't sound glad about that," Brian said.

"I'm not," Tony said. "It should have been me."

"Why do you suppose he did that?" Brian asked.

Tony looked over at him, debating with himself. There were advantages and disadvantages to going there. He really didn't want to talk about this. Not yet. But he wasn't above admitting sometimes that a professional, objective ear could help. Might be worth trying to dump some of this on someone who didn't know him, who he wouldn't have to hide from.

"He thinks it's his job to protect me," Tony said. "He doesn't understand it's my job to protect him."

"Sounds like you've both got the same job," Brian said.

"We do. Usually, we don't both have to do it at the same time," Tony said.

Brian nodded. "And this time?"

"I was already hurt. He wasn't. He probably figured he could take it easier than me."

"Was he right?"

Tony started to shake his head, stopped in time. "It doesn't matter. This wasn't just one of us getting hurt. This was rape."

"Which is different," Brian said.

"Hell, yeah, it's different," Tony growled.

"Why?"

Tony's face hurt from the look he tried to give the younger man. "Rape isn't just a physical hit. It's all tied up in self-worth, and dignity, and ego, and anger..." he trailed off. "And it's even worse when it happens to a man."

"I'm glad you realize that, Tony. Jethro's going to have a tough road ahead of him, and he's going to need you to keep doing your job, keep protecting him. He's going to need strong friends to help him deal with his feelings."

Tony scoffed. "Jethro doesn't deal with his feelings. He ignores them until they go away."

Brian shook his head.

"I can guarantee you that is not going to work for him this time. He's going to have to work out what he's feeling somehow. Just like you're going to have to work out your feelings about letting this happen to him."

"I didn't let it happen," Tony objected immediately. "There was nothing I could do."

"Do you believe that?" Brian asked.

Tony paused, blew out some air, felt pain in his chest. "No," he finally said. "I should have done something."

Brian smiled. "Now we're getting somewhere. Tell me what happened."

**X-X-X-X-X**

Ducky was on the last page of Tony's medical record when his cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the caller ID, recognized Fornell's number, and wondered when the FBI agent had inherited Gibbs' ability to know when he had something.

"How's the exam going, Special Agent Fornell?" he asked when the call connected.

"Ugly," Fornell said. "He wants to know how Tony's doing."

"Would you like to put me on speaker so Jethro can hear and we don't have to go through this twice?"

There was a shuffling sound as Fornell did just that. "Okay, Ducky, you're on," Fornell's voice came, now from further away.

"How are you, Jethro?" Ducky asked first.

"Fine. How's Tony?" Gibbs replied. Even given the quality of the speaker, Ducky thought his voice sounded rough.

"Battered and bruised, but only minimally broken," Ducky said. "They have him in trauma. He suffered a head injury that is overall classified as mild. That said, he has several moderate cerebral contusions and is showing signs of concussion, though thankfully there is no significant bleeding in his brain. He has a complete fracture of the left sixth rib with several additional micro-fractures in the fifth, sixth and seventh ribs on that side."

"Micro-fractures?" Gibbs asked.

"Microscopic cracks," Ducky said. "Painful, but ordinarily not harmful. However, given his prior lung damage, the additional pain on inspiration puts him at higher risk for pneumonia. As the medical staff is unaware of his this, it will be up to us to ensure he participates in respiratory therapy after he is released to prevent that from occurring."

"We will," Gibbs said. Ducky continued.

"CT scans of his chest and abdomen are otherwise negative. However, he also has a non-displaced hairline fracture of the right orbital cavity."

"Any eye damage?" Gibbs interrupted.

"It's highly unlikely. Normally, damage to the orbit is caused by displacement of the cavity. The eye recedes, putting stress on the orbital nerve. The CT was negative and shows no displacement, but damage can't be fully ruled out until the swelling goes down and he is able to tell us what he sees."

"What else, Ducky?" Fornell asked when Gibbs didn't.

"He was dizzy and vomiting in the ER, which is a strong indicator of concussion. The doctor recommended keeping him overnight for observation. Anthony has declined."

"Tell him he doesn't have a choice. It's an order," Gibbs said.

"I will pass that along," Ducky said. "He's going to be sore for quite some time, and as I said, we will have to keep an eye out for signs of pneumonia, but it appears he will heal."

"Is he talking to the counselor?" Gibbs asked.

"I believe he is. I left them alone some time ago, and the counselor has not left the room."

"Good," Gibbs said. "Keep an eye on him. Call me if he refuses to be admitted."

"Will do," Ducky said.

* * *

To be continued...

Thank you to all who've reviewed. I'm having so much fun delving into Gibbs' psyche, and I'm glad you are enjoying it too. Please keep commenting. It makes me very happy to get your emails.


	5. Chapter 5

**Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 5**

**by HidingInSight**

* * *

Fornell's phone rang again almost immediately. He glanced at it and silently groaned. He needed to pick up. He didn't want to, not here, in front of Gibbs. He picked up anyway.

Gibbs heard a lot of mumbling, yeses and noes, before Fornell said something that caught his attention.

"Search it, gather the evidence, secure it in lockup... no, don't process it, just secure it... Because it's not our case... I don't care. Just do it." He hung up and glanced at Gibbs, who raised an eyebrow. Fornell thought about ignoring the implied request for information, wondered how long he'd be able to hold out, then gave it up.

"My people found the building, where it happened," he said, and waited for a reaction. To his credit – or maybe just because his energy was being consumed by the situation – Gibbs didn't flip out.

"Why were they looking?" Gibbs asked.

"Because someone had to secure the scene, for both cases, and I didn't think you wanted McGee or David involved yet. They're going to hold what they find, maintain the chain of evidence, until you're ready for it to be processed."

Gibbs gave that some thought. He hated – hated – working cases with second-hand evidence. On the other hand, Fornell was right: Someone had to do it, and he didn't want his team receiving evidence of... what happened... until he had a chance to prepare them.

"They know what they're looking for?" he asked.

"Besides the obvious?" Fornell said, and Gibbs nodded slightly. His pain was returning, and with the pain at his backside diminished by the numbing agent, his pounding head was garnering all his attention. "Yes. Between what DiNozzo told me when he called and what you've told me about the case you're working, I had enough to point them in the right direction. I told them there'd been an... assault... there earlier today, connected to your case, and your team was otherwise occupied. Made it sound like it was a favor."

Gibbs nodded a little. That would do.

"You need to tell your people something," Fornell said. "You've been off the grid for a couple hours now. McGee's probably ready to send out a search party."

Gibbs considered that. Fornell was right: He should have called them.

"Give me your phone," Gibbs said, and held out a hand. Fornell gave it to him. He looked at it and gave it back. "Dial McGee." He still didn't know how to use a damn 'smart' phone. He read off the number and Fornell dialed, handing it back to him.

"Are you guys okay?" McGee asked on hearing Gibbs' voice. "We've been trying to call you and Tony for over an hour."

"Where are you?" Gibbs asked.

"Navy Yard," McGee said. "We searched the building, nothing there." He paused for a second. "Where's your phone?"

"Not with me. Track it. DiNozzo's too."

"Hold on." There was the sound of clicking computer keys. In less than a minute, McGee's voice came back. "I've got yours. It's about 100 yards from the building you were searching. No signal from Tony's."

"Stationary or mobile?" Gibbs asked.

"Stationary," McGee confirmed. There was more clicking. "Satellite location shows it to be within three yards of... an alley behind the building next door. There's a row of dumpsters there. Are you guys alright?" he tried again.

"Give me the address." McGee did, and Gibbs repeated it back, sealing it in his memory.

"Tony's been hurt," Gibbs said. "He'll be alright, but he's spending the night at the hospital. You two go home. I'll meet you at the Yard first thing in the morning."

"Are you sure? I mean, shouldn't we go be with him?" McGee asked. Gibbs knew full well it was tradition to have a member of an injured officer's unit present when hospitalization was required. As support and protection. He couldn't allow that this time. Someone for DiNozzo meant someone for him.

"I'm here, Ducky too. Don't need anyone else. He'll be discharged in the morning. Tell Ziva. Go home."

There was a moment of stillness from the other end.

"If you're sure..." McGee said. He sounded anything but sure.

"I am. Do it." He hung up.

"You're not going to be able to keep it from them for long," Fornell said as he took his phone back. "They're too good, and they care about you too much to just let it lie."

"They'll leave it alone for tonight. That's all I need," Gibbs said.

"Are you sure?" Fornell asked, and Gibbs had to sigh. The only time his team had ever disobeyed an order from him was when it came to family.

"No, I'm not," he admitted. "Send your people to that address and find my phone. McGee says it's in a dumpster in the alley. See if they can find Tony's cell and our guns, too."

Fornell made the call, quickly relaying the information. He slipped his phone away and leaned back in his chair.

"You aren't really planning on working tomorrow, are you?" he asked a minute later.

"Why not?" Gibbs asked.

"For God's sake, Jethro, look where you are," Fornell exclaimed. "You're gonna need to take some time."

"Why? We play hurt all the time."

"Hurt," Fornell said. "Sure. Bad shoulder, bum wrist, little through and through. But this? This is different."

"Only if you make it different," Gibbs said, and in that moment, Fornell heard his hidden plea: Please don't let this be different. Please don't let this make us different.

Fornell leaned in close, hooked his first two fingers and pointed at his own eyes. "Look at me, Jethro, right here." When their eyes were locked, he continued.

"This is different. But we're not. You're still the same man you were 24 hours ago. The same man who rocked my world last night. We've both seen how this works: It's likely to screw you up for a while. But I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. We'll get through this. I promise."

Gibbs stared at him, eyes narrowed, for a full minute or more. Fornell didn't look away. Finally, Gibbs spoke: "Rocked your world?" he said, and smiled.

"In a manner of speaking," Fornell said, and grinned back. Gibbs reached across and used his index finger to trace the worry line across Fornell's forehead. He trailed his finger down around his eye, across his cheekbone and down his jaw to his chin. When his finger reached Fornell's lips, the FBI man kissed the tip.

"We'll get through it," Fornell repeated. Gibbs nodded.

"So you'll take a few days off?" Fornell asked after a minute.

"We'll see what the doctor says," Gibbs granted. Fornell figured that was as good as he was going to get for now.

"Gimme another swab," Gibbs said, and Fornell did. This time, Gibbs merely swiped it thoroughly around his mouth, then handed it back.

There was a knock on the door, and again, Gibbs flinched. His startle response was on overdrive, which they both knew was not unusual for victims of trauma. They just never thought it would be either of them.

"Come in," Fornell called.

Jessica reappeared. "How are you doing, Jethro?" she asked.

"Ready to get it over with," Jethro said.

"Okay. I'll let them know." She worked her pager again as she rounded the bed to checked the monitor.

"How do you feel?" she asked when she got a look at his vitals.

"Same. Pain's coming back," Gibbs said.

"Any trouble breathing?" she asked.

"No. Why?" he asked.

"Wait just a minute," she said. Jessica pushed a button and the pressure cuff began inflating. She came around the bed with a penlight in her hand. Fornell slid sideways out of the way.

"Look at me," she said, leaning down over Gibbs. She shone the light into each eye, watching the reaction. He winced at a spike of pain the light caused in his head. She murmured an apology.

"What's wrong?" Fornell asked when she straightened. He felt his own pulse rate rising.

"His blood pressure's a little low. But his pupils are fine, and he's not having any respiratory distress. So it's probably not the morphine."

"What is it then?" he asked.

"Blood loss, probably," she said. The cuff finished, and she read the monitor. "It's not dangerously low, just lower than we'd like." She reached over the bed and loosened the clamp on the bag of IV saline, opening the flow. It had been just barely dripping, intended to keep the vein open without adding significant fluid to his system.

More taps on the door and Jessica bade enter. The team returned.

"Hello, Jethro," Marc said. "You ready to resume?"

"Ready to finish," Jethro said.

"Finish is still a ways away, I'm afraid," Marc said. "We'll get there as quickly as we can. How's he doing?" he asked Jessica.

"He says the pain's back, and his pressure's a little low," Jessica said as they all washed up and three donned gloves again. "Pulse's still a little high. Respiration and pupils are fine."

"How low, and how high?" Marc asked.

"96 over 60 and 90, a minute ago."

"You give him a bolus?"

"Just started," she said.

"Labs back yet?" he asked. Jessica went to the computer and entered a password. She found the results and read them back.

"Blood count's a little low," Marc confirmed. "Jethro, you have any objection to a blood transfusion?"

"No," Gibbs said.

"Order him a unit," Marc said, and Jessica worked the computer, sending the order. He returned to the side of the bed Gibbs was facing.

"I'd like to give you a little more morphine for this part," he said. "With your vitals where they are, though, I'm hesitant. We can either try it without, or wait and see if the transfusion works."

"How long?" Gibbs asked.

"It'll be half an hour at least to get the blood and get it transfused. Then we'd probably want to wait another half hour or more to be sure your vitals have stabilized."

"No," Gibbs said. "Do it without."

"Okay. I'll take it as easy as I can."

They set up on the other side of the bed and Fornell returned to his place. Jessica resumed her position and her task, narrating everything that was going on out of Gibbs' line of sight. When they pulled back the now-cooled shock blankets, Gibbs took Fornell's hand. When Marc told him to raise his knee, then proceeded to spread his cheeks and press against his anus again, Gibbs jerked and squeezed Fornell's hand, hard. When the doctor began to stretch the muscle, Gibbs clenched his jaw and shut his eyes, and the tremors began.

"Here we go, Jethro. I'm going in with the scope now," Marc said. There was no response from Gibbs.

Marc slowly pushed the scope inside, lubrication and the loosened muscle easing the way. Still, the metal stung and bit against the tears in Gibbs' anus. The renewed pain combined with the indignity of what was happening and Gibbs felt himself start to slide into his head.

When the scope was fully inserted, Marc sat down on the other rolling stool to get to the right eye level.

"How you doing, Jethro?" he asked. No response.

"Jethro?" he called again. Nothing.

"Jethro?" Fornell repeated. Gibbs was squeezing his hand in an almost painful grip. His eyes were tightly shut, his jaw clenched. "Talk to me, Jethro." No response.

Jessica stood and stepped up to the bed. "Jethro, I need you to answer," she said. When there was still no response, she pulled back the blanket to expose a bare shoulder, then grabbed the thick trapezius muscle and squeezed hard.

"No reaction," Jessica said. She was clearly concerned.

"Vitals," Marc said. Josie poked the monitor and the cuff recycled. "Tobias, is he holding you?" Marc asked.

"Yes. Very tightly," Fornell said. The tone of his voice echoed the fear beginning to creep in. "Jethro? C'mon. Talk to me."

"Is he seizing?" Jessica suggested. Marc laid a hand on Gibbs' right leg through the blankets.

"No," Marc said when he felt no tension there.

"Heart rate steady at 92, pressure 98 over 60, respirations 20 and normal, pulse ox... 99 percent," Josie reported.

Marc took a breath. "Alright. He's not in any apparent distress. Let's get this done, quickly," Marc said. "Jess, keep an eye on him. Let me know if anything changes."

They picked up the pace and six minutes later, Marc withdrew the scope. He and Josie manhandled Gibbs back into his original position. Gibbs never relaxed his hold on Fornell's hand. When he was again lying on his side, Marc inserted the lubed nozzle of an anal douche and washed Gibbs out, collecting the water for sampling. He refilled the douche with what he explained to Fornell was a medicated wash. Fornell kept talking to Gibbs, trying to get a reaction, getting nothing. His fear was real now. He'd never seen Gibbs so... absent. Jethro was obviously conscious, the punishing grip on his hand showed that. But no matter what Fornell said, Gibbs kept his jaw clenched, his eyes screwed shut, and said nothing.

When he was done, Marc pulled the gown back down and Jessica grabbed another set of shock blankets. She quickly dragged the old blankets off and replaced them, topping the new set with the old to keep the heat in longer.

"Keep talking to him, Tobias," Marc said. "Latisha, go find out where the blood's at. Josie, draw another three tubes for the lab, stat. I want to see what's going on. Jess, order a stat head CT. He might've blown something."

"What?" Fornell exclaimed.

* * *

To be continued...

I am so happy when I get comments and reviews from those of you who're reading this. Thank you, thank you, thank you.


	6. Chapter 6

**Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 6**

**by HidingInSight**

* * *

_Previously..._

_They picked up the pace of the internal exam and six minutes later, Marc withdrew the scope. He and Josie manhandled Gibbs back into his original position. Gibbs never relaxed his hold on Fornell's hand. When he was again lying on his side, Marc inserted the lubed nozzle of an anal douche and washed Gibbs out, collecting the water for sampling. He refilled the douche with what he explained to Fornell was a medicated wash. Fornell kept talking to Gibbs, trying to get a reaction, getting nothing. His fear was real now. He'd never seen Gibbs so... absent. Jethro was obviously conscious, the punishing grip on his hand showed that. But no matter what Fornell said, Gibbs kept his jaw clenched, his eyes screwed shut, and said nothing._

_When he was done, Marc pulled the gown back down and Jessica grabbed another set of shock blankets. She quickly dragged the old blankets off and replaced them, topping the new set with the old to keep the heat in longer._

_"Keep talking to him, Tobias," Marc said. "Latisha, go find out where the blood's at. Josie, draw another three tubes for the lab, stat. I want to see what's going on. Jess, order a stat head CT. He might've blown something."_

_"What?" Fornell exclaimed._

* * *

Marc stripped off his gloves and came over to his side as the women went to work.

"Something's obviously going on. He's medically stable, not seizing, but he's unresponsive." Marc reached over Fornell and dragged up one of Gibbs' eyelids, checking his pupils again.

"Pupils are equal and reactive, so it's not a major vessel or a significant pressure problem. We've got to rule out a minor bleed."

"I need his arm," Josie said. Fornell tried to get Gibbs to release his hand. Gibbs' grip increased, keeping him there.

"Jethro? Can you hear me? I gotta get out of the way," Fornell said. "I'm not going anywhere. I need you to let go." He began twisting his fingers. Gibbs' grip was unrelenting.

"He's not going to let go," Fornell said.

"Did he just tighten his grip?" Marc asked.

"Yes. And he's got hands like vices." Fornell's voice was strained with what the assembled personnel realized was pain. He wiggled his fingers so the bones weren't pressing against one another and the pain eased. Some.

"So he's obviously conscious on some level," Marc said, then nodded. "Okay. Belay those orders. Let's give him a few minutes, see what happens. Tobias, go ahead and sit down, relax. Talk to him."

Fornell sat, and the staff moved to the other side of the room. They worked over the mound of evidence bags, speaking softly to each other and keeping half an eye on the men.

For ten minutes or more, Fornell spoke gently to Gibbs, trying to draw him out. He relaxed his hand, letting Gibbs hold it without fighting his grip. His phone rang in his pocket, but he ignored it. Latisha returned with the unit of blood, and Jessica started an IV in the upturned side of his neck, beginning the transfusion. As the minutes continued to pass, Gibbs' trembling eased and finally stopped, and he began to visibly relax. His face smoothed out, his jaw slackening. Another five minutes and Fornell spoke up.

"His grip is loosening," he reported. He raised their joined hands and kissed the back of Gibbs'. "Talk to me, Jethro, show me your blues. Come on," he encouraged.

A minute later, Gibbs' eyelids fluttered, and finally opened.

"Hey, Jethro. How you doing?" Gibbs looked at him, like he couldn't quite make out what he was seeing.

"You with me?" Fornell asked, and squeezed his hand. Gibbs nodded and opened his mouth to speak. A rough hiss of breath was all that came out.

"Can you hear me?" Gibbs swallowed, frowned, and nodded again.

"Yeah," he managed to say. His voice sounded like he hadn't used it in days. "What's going on?"

"Jethro?" Marc hit the monitor to recheck his vitals before coming around. "You remember where you are?"

Gibbs started a little before taking a hard breath. "Washington Hospital," he said.

"Tell me who I am," Marc said, having seen Gibbs' instinctive reaction. He took a seat on the stool Jessica had vacated.

"Doctor. Marc. What happened?" He looked down at where he was still holding Fornell's hands. "That hurts," he said. Fornell released him and Gibbs slowly straightened his fingers, grunting a little at the stiffness and pain.

"You went away for a bit," Marc said. "What do you remember?"

Gibbs frowned again. "You were getting ready to take the samples," he said. "Did you?"

"Finished about 15 minutes ago," Marc said. "Has that ever happened before?"

"What?"

"You were unresponsive for almost half an hour," Marc said.

"What?" Gibbs asked again, clearly confused. He looked to Fornell.

"He's had a couple of head injuries in the past, where he stayed in a coma a lot longer than the doctors thought he should have," Fornell said.

"I think we'd better order up that CT after all, Jessica," Marc said over his shoulder. "With contrast. I want to know what's going on inside his head. Have them take a look at his neck while they're there."

Jessica got on the phone. After a moment, she turned to Marc. "You still want it stat? ER just received four traumas from a pileup on the Beltway."

Marc shook his head. "Priority two will be fine. He doesn't seem to be in any distress at the moment."

Jessica finished the call. As she passed the monitors, she read off his vitals. Only his still-elevated heart rate was out of normal range.

"How's your pain level?" Marc asked Gibbs.

"Moderate," Gibbs said.

"What's the worst level?" he asked.

"Headache. Seven."

"Okay. Give him a dose of Dilaudid," Marc told Josie, who went to the medication vault and started tapping. She prepared a syringe and injected it into the IV on his arm.

"That'll last a little longer than the morphine, hopefully get you through the rest of this," Marc said when she was done. "Why don't you guys finish up as much as you can while we wait for CT."

Jessica nodded her understanding.

"Keep an eye on his vitals, call me if his pressure falls again," Marc said before he left. Jessica removed the now empty blood bag, capping off the larger IV at his neck, but leaving it in place.

"We've still got some things to do to finish our evidence gathering, but the invasive parts are over," Jessica told him when she was done.

Gibbs nodded again, still trying to figure out what had happened. He remembered the team returning, remembered Marc's hand on his backside, more pain, then... his hand hurt.

"What'd you do to my hand?" Gibbs asked Fornell, gently flexing and straightening his fingers.

"Me? It was all you. Look." He splayed out his own hand, showing red marks across the back that would surely become bruises. "You really didn't want me to leave," he said.

"No, I didn't," Gibbs said. That was the last thing he remembered, and the first thing. Holding Fornell's hand.

"You ready to keep going?" Jessica asked.

"Yeah," Gibbs said with a sigh. "What's next?"

The rest of the exam was a long, slow exercise in humiliation. Jessica and Josie worked together, with Latisha standing to the side taking notes. Overview and close up pictures were taken of the bruises at his neck, the abrasions on his wrists, the scratches on his torso. His socks were finally removed, added to the clothing bags. The hair on his head, chest, underarms and pubic area was combed through, with loose hairs and particles of who knew what collected on white paper. Samples of his own hair were pulled by the roots from each place. With the nurses turning him this way and that, his entire body was examined with a magnifying glass and an ALS light, with photographs and swabs taken whenever they found anything abnormal. His genitals were similarly examined, and when Jessica found slight bruising on his testicles, close-up photos were taken there, too. The whole thing was done with professionalism, a running commentary and obvious compassion, but it was still an ongoing insult to Gibbs' dignity. He held Fornell's hand when he could, and was stoic and silent through the entire process. The only time he balked was when Jessica attempted to take a picture of his face. He knew the photographs would become part of the sexual assault evidence kit. Which meant no matter how secret they kept it, it would be all over NCIS the moment anyone who knew him saw a photo of his face. Followed by a rapid spread through the rest of Washington federal law enforcement. He would not allow that to happen.

Halfway through, the phone on the wall rang and Latisha announced they were ready for him in CT. Jessica removed her gloves and washed her hands. After making sure Gibbs was well covered with blankets, she released the brakes on the bed and pushed it out of the room. She suggested Fornell take a break for coffee, but the fed refused and went along. Gibbs was grateful.

While Gibbs was in the CT suite and Fornell was exiled to the hallway outside, he checked his phone. One of the agents at the crime scene had called. They'd found both phones, right where McGee had said Gibbs' was located. DiNozzo's was smashed. There was no sign of the missing guns. Fornell placed a call to McGee, telling him to report the loss to NCIS and requisition new sidearms and phones for both agents, to be ready by morning. He knew Gibbs' phone would go into evidence and its return date would be anyone's guess. The young agent asked for details, but Fornell refused. Gibbs would tell him in the morning, he said.

After the CT, they returned to the exam room and the nurses resumed their work. Another 15 minutes, a swab taken from the inside of Fornell's cheek for the comparison sample, and it was finally over. Jessica called for Marc to come back and Josie and Latisha left. She took the stool, handing his now clean watch to Fornell.

"How are you doing?" she asked Gibbs. He nodded. He could feel a ball of emotion pushing at his chest, trying to make its presence known. It contained anger, humiliation, fear, and a feeling like he needed to run. He took measured breaths, trying to keep it in check.

"Your pain level okay?" she asked, and he nodded again. She could see the emotions struggling to break free on his face. It had surprised Jessica that he'd stayed so silent during the balance of the exam. Her experience told her it wasn't a good thing.

Marc returned with a quick tap on the door that barely made Gibbs flinch. The doctor had a computer printout in his hand. He pulled over the other rolling stool.

"I didn't get a chance to talk to you about the extent of the damage," Marc began. "The worst of the tears is about three inches long, the other two in the one-inch range, but they're much shallower inside than on the surface. We're going to treat them with external cream and an internal wash. There's a regimen you'll need to follow, but if you do, they should heal within a few weeks."

Gibbs nodded. He was paying attention, but he was clearly distracted.

"I've also got the CT results," he said. "There's tissue swelling in your neck, but no bony damage. It's going to be painful for a few days, inside and out, but that should fully resolve within three or four days."

When Gibbs again nodded, he continued. "You didn't get so lucky with the head. You've got a linear fracture of the parietal bone, right here." He pointed on his own head to a spot about an inch above and slightly behind his left ear. "A mild cerebral contusion at that site, and a more significant one on the other side directly opposite. Do you know about contre-coup injuries?"

When both Gibbs and Fornell answered in the negative, he continued demonstrating on his own head.

"When your head hit the concrete, here, your brain bounced against the inside of your skull on that side, then rebounded and hit the skull on the other side. The second brain impact was actually more damaging than the first, because the fracturing skull on the left side absorbed some of the force of the initial collision and threw it back, kind of like a trampoline."

"How serious is it?" Fornell asked.

"Relatively minor, all told," Marc said. "It's why he's got a headache. It might also be why he seemed to have lost consciousness for a while, though I don't think so." He turned to Gibbs. "I'd like to admit you overnight for observation..."

"No," Gibbs said.

"Jethro," Fornell said, ready to argue.

Gibbs shook his head slightly. "No," he said firmly. "There's no dizziness, nausea, confusion, or retrograde amnesia. The only symptom I've got is a headache. I've been here long enough. I'm going home."

Marc considered him, then turned to Fornell. "Will you stay with him?"

"Guaranteed," Fornell said.

Marc nodded. "I'll sign off on you leaving, but only if Tobias stays with you and you promise to go home, go to bed, and rest for the next 24 hours."

"He will," Fornell said. Gibbs nodded his agreement.

"Okay. In that case, Jessica's going to help you get cleaned up and walk you through the discharge instructions and the medications I'm going to prescribe. There's quite a bit of information, but she'll go over it until you're comfortable. " He again turned to Fornell. "Anything changes, he shows any of the symptoms Jessica's going to list, you get him back here. Right away."

"I will," Fornell said.

"Okay. Good luck, Jethro," Marc said and left without offering to shake hands. Jessica stood and began disconnecting the IVs and monitoring equipment. She had Gibbs press against the spot on his arm while she applied pressure to the site on his neck.

"I'm going to let you shower before we start talking," she said when the wounds were well clotted. "Let me have you stand up, see how you do."

Fornell pulled back the blankets, and Gibbs carefully sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. There was an immediate spike of pain, radiating from his ass up into his low back, but it wasn't as bad as it had been. Pain meds must be working.

Using Fornell's arms for balance, Gibbs slipped to the floor. For a second, he thought his knees would buckle, but he stayed upright through sheer force of will and took a step, broadening his stance to help with his balance. With a nod to Fornell, he let him go.

"Walk toward me a little," Jessica instructed. He did, and managed it.

"Good." She turned to Fornell again. "I'd rather not have him alone in there. You okay to sit with him?"

"Absolutely," Fornell said.

"There's a hand shower. If you're careful, you can probably help him if he needs it without getting wet."

"I will," Fornell said.

"Let me get you some towels." She crossed to the cabinets again and came back with a stack of items: A set of blue scrubs, several white towels and washcloths, a pair of white boxers still sealed in packaging, a set of no-slip socks, and a plastic bag with sample-size bottles of toiletries. Fornell took the stack.

"Those scrubs and socks aren't the highest in fashion, but they'll get you home," she said with a gentle smile. "I'll be out here. Call out if you need anything."

Fornell held the stack in one arm and used the other to guide Gibbs over to the bathroom. The Navy man grew more stable with each step.

The bathroom was large. A tiled waist-high half-wall supported the sink and a counter and separated out a large shower area. There was a fold-down bench under the shower head, which was both height-adjustable and removable to be used hand-held. There were numerous grab bars at various heights mounted on all the walls. Because of the positioning of the sink, there was no mirror above it. Or anywhere else in the bathroom.

Fornell put the stack on the counter and walked with Gibbs into the shower area. He folded down the bench, supporting Gibbs while he swung around and gently sat down.

"You need help?" Fornell asked. He brought over the washcloths, a wrapped bar of soap and a small bottle of shampoo from the bag of toiletries, setting them on the bench beside Gibbs.

"With the gown," Gibbs said. Fornell reached around him to untie the ties. Gibbs shrugged his shoulders and let the gown fall into his lap. Fornell reached for it. There was a second's hesitation before Gibbs pulled the tails out from under himself and let Fornell take it. Fornell tossed it into the main part of the bathroom. Without asking, Fornell took down the handheld and turned on the taps. When the water was as hot as Fornell knew Gibbs liked it, he rolled the holder down to the right level and stood beside the stream to hang the nozzle. The water started cascading down over Gibbs' head and shoulders. Fornell retreated to sit on the closed toilet lid.

He watched silently for several minutes as Gibbs just sat under the falling water. Finally, Gibbs moved. He unwrapped the bar of soap and stared scrubbing himself. Several aborted movements told him Gibbs' shoulders were still bothering him. Nonetheless, Gibbs didn't ask for help and Fornell didn't offer. After he'd washed as much of himself as he could from the seated position, Gibbs set the cloth and soap aside and turned to the shampoo. He washed his hair, twice, before tossing the bottle aside. He picked up the cloth and soap again and stood, folding up the bench. He turned to face the water, rolling the nozzle holder up so he could stand under it.

Gibbs washed again and kept washing, over and over, until the soap was nothing but a sliver. Then he turned the hot water up a little and stood for another five minutes, leaning with his hands on the wall while his skin turned pink. Finally, Fornell spoke, his voice gentle over the sound of the water.

"Jethro, that's enough," he said. Gibbs didn't turn, didn't move. Fornell stood and leaned on the half wall.

"Come on, love, you're clean."

"Don't feel like it," Gibbs said quietly.

"I know."

With a sigh, Gibbs shut off the water. Fornell stepped across with a towel, reaching to wrap it around his shoulders from behind. When the towel made contact with his skin, Gibbs started and twisted on his feet, slipping on the wet tile. Fornell dropped the towel and grabbed him to stop him from going down. Gibbs fought him for a second before stilling in Fornell's arms.

"Easy," Fornell said. "It's alright."

Gibbs turned, his forearms pressed against Fornell's chest. He stood for a second before he dropped his head onto Fornell's shoulder and bumped his fist against the broad chest in front of him. Gibbs hit him with the other fist, a low, wordless cry bubbling up. Fornell held him as Gibbs continued to strike out, the impacts growing stronger as Gibbs' cries grew louder. The FBI agent stood there, street shoes solid against the wet tile, and let him get it out. He whispered words of calm and comfort, rubbing the fingers of one hand lightly across Gibbs' back. His heart was breaking. This wasn't supposed to happen. Jethro felt things deeply, but he rarely expressed his deep emotions aloud. To see him lose it so badly... Fornell renewed his private oath: He was going to find that bastard, and he was going to kill him.

* * *

To be continued. Thank you very much to all who've reviewed this story. Reviews make me very very happy.

BTW: Since Google is being spectacularly unhelpful: "ALS" stands for "Alternate Light Source." It's the blue UV thing they use on CSI (and NCIS, too) to illuminate samples of bodily fluids. Now you know.


	7. Chapter 7

**Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 7**

**by HidingInSight**

* * *

_Previously..._

_Gibbs turned, his forearms pressed against Fornell's chest. He stood for a second before he dropped his head onto Fornell's shoulder and bumped his fist against the broad chest in front of him. Gibbs hit him with the other fist, a low, wordless cry bubbling up. Fornell held him as Gibbs continued to strike out, the impacts growing stronger as Gibbs' cries grew louder. The FBI agent stood there, street shoes solid against the wet tile, and let him get it out. He whispered words of calm and comfort, rubbing the fingers of one hand lightly across Gibbs' back. His heart was breaking. This wasn't supposed to happen. Jethro felt things deeply, but he rarely expressed his deep emotions aloud. To see him lose it so badly... Fornell renewed his private oath: He was going to find that bastard, and he was going to kill him._

* * *

When the storm passed, Gibbs raised his head and looked at him. There was an expression of abject misery on his face.

"We'll get through this. I promise," Fornell said. Gibbs nodded.

"Let me get the other towel," Fornell said. Gibbs nodded again and let him go. Fornell brought it over and Gibbs dried his body and hair, moving carefully around his injuries.

With Fornell hovering and helping where he could, Gibbs dressed as quickly as he could. The underwear fit fine. The scrubs were a little big, but not bad. He sat on the toilet lid to pull on the socks while Fornell dried the floor with the dropped towel. Gibbs used a toothbrush and paste from a mini tube in the toiletry kit to clean out his mouth, and a comb to straighten his hair the best he could without a mirror. When he was done, he dried the toothbrush with a paper towel and stuck it into his pocket along with the paste. He turned to Fornell.

"You're wet," he said, and Fornell gave him a look. His shirt and the front of his pants were dark with water where Gibbs had leaned against him.

"I'll dry," Fornell said. "You ready?"

"Let's go home," Gibbs said.

Jessica was waiting in the room as she'd promised, sitting on her stool working through some paperwork. There were three cardboard file boxes side by side on the counter. The feds noticed the bed had been stripped, the sheet and blankets gone. A stack of papers, prescription bottles and medical equipment sat on the end of the bed. A paper grocery bag sat upright at Jessica's feet. Two straight chairs were facing her stool, ready for them it seemed.

"You feel any better?" she asked Gibbs. He chose to believe she was asking about the shower, and not the explosion of emotion she must have heard through the door.

"Some," Gibbs said.

"Good. Have a seat while we talk through what comes next." They each took a chair. Gibbs found that sitting hurt, but not too badly.

First, Jessica bandaged his wrists. The abrasions were deep, the right one oozing pinkish fluid again after his shower. She applied antibiotic ointment and wrapped both in white gauze. They would have to be kept covered as long as the wounds were open, she told them, with the bandages changed and ointment reapplied at least daily. The scratches on his torso were ugly but not serious, and wouldn't need treatment. She picked a tube of ointment, several rolls of gauze, and a roll of medical tape off the pile on the bed and placed them in the empty bag at her feet.

That done, Jessica went over signs and symptoms of concussion. Though both men had heard it before, Fornell paid attention. He wasn't sure whether Gibbs was paying attention or not, as Gibbs mostly just sat and stared at his hands. Jessica read off an information sheet, slipping it into the bag when she was through.

The next set of instructions was the treatment regimen for the damage to his backside that would be required at home. Medicated cream applied to the tears on his anus twice daily for ten days, anal douche with the medicated wash twice daily for five days. From the stack on the bed she picked up and showed them a tube of cream and a box of powder that would be mixed with water to form the wash, along with a reusable douche and a box of disposable nozzles. Jessica offered a home health service to come by and apply the medications. At that, Gibbs looked up immediately and said no. He did not want a stranger in his house, for any reason. Jessica nodded and put the items into the bag before continuing.

He would be on a liquid-only diet for three days, she told them next, soft food diet for one week after that, stool softeners for ten days, all to prevent stretching of the anus and reopening of the wounds. No anal penetration other than with the douche for two weeks minimum, with a recommendation but not requirement to be cleared by a doctor before resuming that activity.

"Do you have a doctor you'd be comfortable with for that exam?" Jessica asked. "We can recommend someone if you don't."

Gibbs thought about it. The only doctor who'd treated him for years was Ducky. He wasn't sure he wanted to ask the older man for clearance to resume anal sex, but there sure as hell wasn't anyone else he'd want to ask.

"Yes," he said finally.

"Good," Jessica said. She dropped a recommended diet sheet and a box of stool softeners into the bag.

"You're going to need to clean yourself out tonight, to ease passage of the fecal matter from your lunch. Do you have supplies for that at home?"

"Yes," Gibbs said, with a hint of... something like embarrassment.

"Good," she said again.

A bottle of pills was next. Antibiotics, Jessica explained, to prevent infection of his injury sites and protect against potential bacterial contagions that might have been transmitted to him. He would have to take them twice a day for ten days.

Next, Jessica addressed the course of ARVs that would be required to combat potential HIV infection.

"HIV takes around three days to reach the lymph nodes, and another two days after that to start infecting cells. Which means there's a window during which the infection can be blocked even if your attacker had the disease. However, the course of treatment is 28 days, to insure complete protection and eradication of any of the virus that might make into the lymph system.

"Your blood was tested as soon as you arrived, and you're clean across the board. Your liver function is also very good, almost abnormally so for someone of your age." She smiled. "Good genes go a long way. It's a great place to start from, because these meds can sometimes be hard on the liver. We'll keep an eye on that over the next month, to be sure nothing goes wrong, though I doubt that'll be an issue."

She took a breath. "We also ran a titer test for hepatitis B vaccine. You're up to date, which almost guarantees you won't get that infection. You'll need to repeat testing for other forms of hepatitis and sexually transmitted infections every two weeks for the next twelve weeks to stay on top of any developing infections."

"What about HIV? How long before we know he's in the clear?" Fornell asked when he saw Gibbs wasn't going to. Her answer was directed at Gibbs.

"If you agree to the course of ARVs, we'll test for HIV monthly for three months, then do a final test at six months. If you're still negative at three months, your risk of converting to positive status drops to less than one in 1,000. A negative test at six months means you're in the clear. If you decide against the treatment, we'll test you every two weeks along with the other testing. Either way, you shouldn't have unprotected sex of any kind for twelve weeks to prevent potential transmission. After that, the risk of transmission is negligible."

Gibbs nodded, glanced at Fornell, looked away. Fornell was next to speak. "You said there were side effects?"

"Yes. The side effects can be severe, and many people quit the regimen before the full course is completed for that reason. Almost everyone gets some amount of diarrhea, nausea and vomiting, headaches and fatigue. Symptoms come on within the first 24 to 48 hours and will subside as your body gets used to the medication. However, if the symptoms are severe to start, even the lesser symptoms over time can be debilitating for some."

"What's the guarantee?" Gibbs asked.

"If you complete the course, and aren't exposed to anything else in the meantime, chances of contracting non-drug-resistant HIV is as close to zero as science can get."

Gibbs nodded again. "I'll do it."

"The side effects and concussion symptoms sound awfully similar," Fornell said. "How are we going to know the difference?"

"That's a good question," Jessica said. "Concussion symptoms will show up in the first 24 hours. After that, it's probably side effects. That being said, if you get a severe headache over the next few days that's centered over the fracture site, or on the opposite side, call your doctor. Headaches from the ARVs will most likely be frontal or slightly temporal."

Fornell nodded his understanding. She went through the medication course. Three drugs, twice a day, for four weeks. She picked each bottle off the bed, showed it to them, and dropped it in the bag.

"The timing is very important. You'll need to think about when tonight you want to take the first dose, because after that, you'll have to take each dose as close as possible to 12 hours after the dose before for best result. Most people set a watch or cell phone alarm so they can stay on track. If you go back to work before the course is finished, it's best to carry the meds with you so you'll have them if you get stuck away from home."

"Can he go back to work?" Fornell asked.

"He can, but he probably won't want to," Jessica said, and returned her attention to Gibbs. "The deal you made with Marc says you're off until day after tomorrow. After that, you can do whatever you're comfortable with. We highly recommend planning to stay home through the first seven days of the ARV course. You're not going to want to be working if the side effects are bad."

Gibbs nodded. Fornell barely kept from rolling his eyes. They both knew if Gibbs could stand, he'd be at work. He was just glad Gibbs had agreed to the 24-hour hold.

"What about alcohol?" Fornell asked, thinking of the bourbon in Gibbs' basement.

"Light social drinking is okay. Avoid drinking to intoxication, and try not to drink every day. This stuff isn't as hard on your liver as some other medications, but if you start to see signs of jaundice, call your doctor right away. We'll run a liver panel along with the HIV test at the end of the course to be sure there hasn't been any negative effect."

She picked up two more bottles. Reglan for nausea and an over-the-counter anti-diarrheal, both to be taken as needed for side effects. "Don't take the stool softeners if you're having diarrhea, and be sure to drink plenty of fluids. Juices or Gatorade work best, or anything else non-caffeinated, non-alcoholic, and non-carbonated. If you have vomiting and/or diarrhea more than two consecutive days without a break and the medications aren't fixing it, or if you start throwing up and can't keep the medications down, call your doctor. Dehydration is a real risk, and it can be serious."

She put them in the bag and picked up another bottle.

"Marc prescribed you a seven-day course of Vicodin for pain from your injuries. It'll also cover headaches from the ARVs. If you've got injury pain longer than that, go see your doctor. For headaches after that, OTC pain killers should be enough. If not, see your doctor."

The bottle went into the bag and she picked up the last one on the bed.

"You're likely to have trouble sleeping for a while. These will help. They can be habit-forming, so try not to use them unless you need them." Into the bag.

Jessica took a stack of papers off the bed, the last items left. There was a computer-generated list of all the medications she'd mentioned with dosing instructions, potential side effects and cautions and warnings. There was a referral for counseling, information about the D.C. Rape Crisis Center, a card for the hotline, and a list of therapy groups that specialized in male rape survivors.

"You might not think you need counseling now, Jethro, but that's likely to change as time goes on. Hang onto the list. Also, there's support available for partners of survivors as well." Fornell nodded his understanding.

The final items were two booklets. "These will help with what comes next," Jessica said. "There's one for each of you. They explain some of the things you're likely to be feeling and what to expect in the days and months ahead. They include danger signs to watch out for, including signs of post-traumatic stress, what's normal and what's not. Take some time to read through them in the next few days. Our experience shows that those who read the guidebook are more successful at dealing with the aftermath. Okay?" When both men nodded, she put the booklets in the bag.

"The only thing left is what you want to do with the evidence." She swiveled her stool a little and pointed at the cardboard boxes. "If you're ready to make a police report, we can call Metro Police now," Jessica said.

"No," Gibbs said, and Jessica nodded.

"I figured as much. I strongly encourage you to report the assault. Besides potentially helping to get a predator off the streets, it's a big part of the healing process."

"We'll get him off the streets, don't worry about that," Gibbs said. Jessica shook her head.

"I've worked with members of the law enforcement community before, and I understand the desire you're undoubtedly feeling to personally track down the man who did this. It's reasonable and it's expected." Jessica paused.

"I have to warn you, though. If you decide to pursue this on your own, it will likely complicate your recovery. You'll get all caught up hunting this man, and you'll be able to avoid dealing with what happened, maybe for a long while. But the longer you avoid it, the harder it's going to be to get through. You need to let the police handle this. Besides, if you're involved in the case, there will be rumors of impropriety that will make the case harder to prosecute, down the line."

"We know all that," Fornell said. "Jethro's got some good people, and as soon as he's ready, he'll get them on it."

"Good enough. In that case, we can store the evidence here up to the one year statute of limitations for reporting."

"I'll send someone to get it shortly," Fornell said.

"And take it where?" Gibbs asked, turning to look at him.

"I'll have them take it to Quantico," Fornell said, referring to the FBI lab.

"No. Send it to Abby," Gibbs said. Fornell looked at him like he'd completely lost it.

"You really want her involved?" he asked.

"No. But she's the only one I trust."

"You can trust my lab," Fornell objected. "We'll run it blind, no names. I'll have them send the results directly to me."

"The second they get a blind SAE kit from an SSA out of WFO, one of your lab flunkies is going to step next door and check in with CODIS. There's too much potential high profile gossip in this town to let that one go," Gibbs said.

"You don't think Abby's going to check the DNA?" Fornell countered.

"Not if I tell her not to," Gibbs said.

"I don't know, Jethro. You sure you want to take that risk?"

"Better it's someone I trust," Gibbs said with finality, and Fornell nodded. He turned back to Jessica.

"Does any of the evidence have his name associated?"

"No. Only his medical record number. That'll cross-reference with the reports in our system, when you're ready for it. Until then, it's password protected. We can sanitize the relevant notes and send them along."

"Good. Give me the number," Fornell said. She checked one of the forms in her clipboard, then wrote the medical record number on a blank page before handing it to him. Fornell made sure he could read her handwriting before folding the page and sticking it in his shirt pocket.

"I'll send an FBI agent for it," he said. "He'll have identification."

"The wet samples need to be dried within four hours to prevent evidence loss. Would you like our lab to do that?" Jessica asked.

"No. I'll make sure it gets done."

"Alright. That's it then. You're free to go. I'll get a wheelchair."

"Not necessary," Gibbs said.

"Policy," Jessica said.

"I'm not leaving right away," Gibbs said. "I'm going to check on my partner in the ER first."

Jessica considered him, then turned to Tobias. "You promised to take him home and make him rest," she reminded him.

"He needs to see for himself. I'll take him home after that." He stood up and retrieved his jacket, pulling it on.

"Okay. Good luck, Jethro. Stop by and see us sometime, let us know how you're doing." She picked up the bag of supplies and held it out. Fornell took it.

"Thank you," Fornell said. Gibbs said nothing. Jessica smiled and pulled the door open, ushering them out.

They moved through the ER the way they'd come. Gibbs' pace was slower than normal, his lingering pain limiting his movements. The final dose of medication had helped reduce his headache to a constant pressure on the right side of his head. Better than the pounding it had been before. Fornell matched him step for step, shortening his own stride to stay by Gibbs' side. He kept the hand closest to Gibbs free, in case he was needed.

The trauma unit was at the front of the ER, right inside the ambulance entrance. It was secured on the public side by a code access door. A security guard sat behind a podium next to the doors.

"Fornell, FBI," Fornell said and displayed his credentials. "We need to see a patient." Gibbs stood silently beside him.

"Name?" the guard asked, and the men realized they had no idea what name Tony has used.

"Not sure. White male, brown hair, about 6'2, 190. He came in about three hours ago, beat up."

"Trauma four," the guard said. He pushed a button under the podium and the doors swished open.

The trauma suite was very busy. Probably the wreck Jessica had mentioned. No one paid them any attention as they moved down the center of the hall. Glassed-in rooms were to their left and right, each marked with a number hanging from the ceiling. Four was to their left halfway down. The curtains were drawn across the glass. Fornell stepped through first, slipping a hand through a break in the curtain to create an opening large enough to see through. It was the right room. They stepped in.

Tony was lying on his back on a semi-reclined bed. The lights in the room were off, though there was plenty of light coming through and around the curtains. Ducky was sitting in a chair by the bed, reading something.

"How's he doing, Duck?" Gibbs asked quietly. Ducky looked around and his eyes immediately widened.

"My word, Jethro, you look terrible. Are you alright?"

"He's alright," Fornell confirmed. "He hasn't seen it yet."

"Seen what?" Gibbs asked, looking first at Fornell, then back at Ducky.

"Your neck. And your eyes," Fornell said without further explanation. "How's Tony?" he asked Ducky.

"Fine," came Tony's voice from the bed. He opened one eye and looked at them. The side of his face was tight and smooth with swelling and purple bruising. "Which is why I don't understand why I have to spend the night."

"Because you have a concussion," Ducky said.

"It's nothing serious. I used to get them in college all the time," Tony objected. "I feel fine."

"Are you still nauseated?" Ducky asked.

"Just a little," Tony admitted.

"Dizzy?" Ducky asked.

"Some," Tony said reluctantly.

"I rest my case," Ducky said.

"How are you, Boss?" Tony asked, giving it up for the moment.

"Discharged," Gibbs said. "Can you stay the night with him, Duck?" Gibbs asked.

"Where are you going?" Ducky asked.

"Home," Fornell answered. "For 24 hours. Doctor's orders."

"In that case, it will be my pleasure to spend the night with Anthony. They're taking him to a room shortly. I'll have them bring in a cot."

"Thank you," Gibbs said. He turned to DiNozzo. "You, do as you're told. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Yes, Boss," DiNozzo said with resignation. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked.

"I will be," Gibbs said and turned away. He'd seen all he needed to see. Tony was conscious, breathing well, and making sense. Everything else would heal.

"Take care of him, Agent Fornell," Ducky said as the FBI agent turned to follow Gibbs out.

"I will," he said.

They returned to Fornell's car. The FBI man opened the passenger door and hovered while Gibbs carefully got in. The bag of supplies went into the trunk. He got behind the wheel in time to see Gibbs flip down the visor mirror.

The first thing Gibbs noticed was his eyes. The whites were streaked with red marks. Petechial hemorrhages. From being strangled. Most commonly seen in the dead. No wonder Ducky'd been startled; they must have still been developing when he checked in the first time. The bruises around his neck were dark and vivid, four fingers on one side, a thumb on the other. They were so clear, Gibbs thought for one ridiculous moment that Abby might be able to collect fingerprints off them.

"It'll heal, Jethro," Fornell said and Gibbs shoved the visor back into place.

"Not going to be presentable in public for a while," Gibbs said.

"Another good reason to stay home." Fornell started the car. He pulled out his cell and made a call, telling someone to go pick up the evidence and take it to NCIS.

"You want to tell Abby or you want me to?" he asked Gibbs when he hung up.

"I'll do it. Dial her up." Fornell did, and handed the phone across before starting out of the parking lot.

* * *

To be continued. Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed. Hearing from you makes the muse eager.

**A note in response to the review from "Kara" who did not sign in:** You're absolutely right. In the big picture, rape of a man is no worse than rape of a woman. It's just different, mostly because of the physiological response men believe they should be able to control, and the homophobia that seems to lurk just beneath the surface of so many men. The psychological battle of "my body responded, does that mean I enjoyed it?" is shared by both genders, but men have the complicating question of "does that mean I'm gay?" (Oh My God, I might be gay?!) That's what I was referring to. No disrespect intended to survivors of any gender. I appreciate your comment, and the invaluable work you do.


	8. Chapter 8

**Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 8**

**by HidingInSight**

* * *

_Previously..._

_"You want to tell Abby or you want me to?" Fornell asked Gibbs when he finished his call._

_"I'll do it," Gibbs said. "Dial her up." Fornell did, and handed the phone across before starting out of the parking lot._

* * *

When the call connected, Gibbs asked Abby if she could stay late. She'd obviously been out of the loop as to McGee's inability to reach them, because she expressed no concern for his welfare. When she told him she'd already left but returning wouldn't be a problem, he told her to expect a bunch of evidence from an FBI agent to arrive shortly.

"It's another victim of the loan shark rapist," Gibbs said. "You'll get evidence gathered from the victim, and sample DNA to rule out his known intimate contact. Run anything you find that doesn't match those two."

"You got it, Bossman. Victim got a name?"

"Classified," Gibbs said.

"Ooo... cool," she said. "Anyone we know?"

"What part of classified did you miss there, Abs?" Gibbs said, forcing a lightness he didn't feel. "And don't try running the victim's DNA, either. It's gonna be a mess and I don't want you caught up in it. Clear?"

"Sure thing, Gibbs," she said automatically.

"I'm not kidding, Abby. Stay away from it," Gibbs said firmly.

"Okay, okay, geez, no need to get all bossy." There was a healthy dose of feigned indignation in her voice. "You're going to owe me for this."

"Put another Caf-Pow on my tab. Call me when you get something," he said, then realized the problem with that. "You have Fornell's number?"

"Yes," she said. "You're calling me from it."

"My cell's off line for a while. If you need to reach me tonight, call me at home or call Fornell. I should have my phone back by tomorrow."

"Got it," she said. "Can you at least give me a hint of who it might be?"

"Abby, promise me you'll leave it alone, or I'm going to send it over to the FBI lab," Gibbs said.

"Wow, Gibbs, that's not nice," she said reproachfully.

"That's how important this is. Will you promise?"

Abby sighed. "Of course. I promise. You'll tell me when you can, right?"

"As soon as I can," Gibbs said. "The evidence will be there within the hour." He hung up.

Gibbs had Fornell stop for coffee. They'd need to make a grocery run, to buy food for ten days' worth of special diet, but Fornell figured that could wait.

It was already dusk by the time Fornell pulled into Gibbs' driveway. His truck was still at the Navy Yard, so Fornell parked behind Gibbs' Challenger, sitting far back from the street under its cover. Gibbs slowly got out of the car and made his way down the walkway into the house. Fornell followed after getting the bag of medical supplies out of the trunk.

When Fornell arrived in the living room, Gibbs was standing there, coffee cup in hand, staring at the cold fireplace. Fornell put the bag on the table and turned back to look at Gibbs.

"You okay?" he asked. Gibbs nodded, but said nothing.

"You hungry?" Gibbs shook his head.

Fornell watched him for several minutes before turning away. He reached into the bag and started pulling out medicine bottles, lining them up on the table. A tube of cream, a tube of ointment, a box of powder, a box of pills, and eight plastic bottles of various sizes and colors. The bottles were all pharmacy issue with the original manufacturer's labels on them. Made sense, since the hospital hadn't had Gibbs' real name and couldn't legally write prescriptions in a fake name. Fornell set the douching and bandaging supplies next to the bottles and put the papers in a stack, then folded the paper bag and dropped it in the recycle bin. He sat at the table and looked over the items. This was going to be their life for a while. He felt his anger simmering, just beneath the surface. He took a deep breath, forcing calm.

Gibbs suddenly moved, setting his cup on the coffee table. "I'm gonna take a shower."

"You need help?" Fornell asked.

"No."

"You want company?"

A hesitation, then: "No."

"Okay. I'll be up in a while."

Gibbs slowly climbed the stairs. Fornell picked up the medication list and started reading it, matching the drugs named with the bottles in front of him. Potential side effects of the various meds included everything from dizziness to hallucinations to death, not even counting what Jessica had told them about the ARVs. Great.

The water started upstairs, and Fornell glanced at his watch. He understood Gibbs' compulsion to take another shower, but he wasn't going to let him overdo it. It normally took Gibbs less than ten minutes to shower. Fornell would let it go to 20 before he intervened.

The FBI man stood and did a quick inventory of the kitchen pantry and the fridge. The totality of his liquid options were a half quart of orange juice, half a gallon of milk, and a dozen cans of soup. That would do for dinner, and Gibbs didn't usually eat breakfast anyway. He opened two cans of tomato and poured them into a pot with milk, basil and oregano, stirring well before putting the pot on the stove over low heat. Gibbs had said he wasn't hungry, but he hadn't eaten since lunch. He'd need the fuel. Fornell figured as long as Gibbs was on a light diet, he'd join him. At least when they were together. Which they were going to be. A lot.

Fornell started a pot of coffee then pulled out his cell, dialing his immediate superior. He didn't have any hot cases going and he had plenty of vacation time banked. He informed the man he'd be taking time off, effective immediately. At least a week, maybe longer. If Gibbs went back to work, Fornell planned to join him. Until the raping bastard was no longer walking the streets, anyway.

There were a few other things Fornell decided he should take care of while Gibbs was otherwise occupied. He wandered through the house, from basement to bedrooms, covering all bases, until he ended up in the master bedroom. Gibbs was still in the shower. Fornell's watch said twenty-five minutes had passed.

Gibbs didn't routinely sleep in the master suite. He'd never explained why, though Fornell suspected that like so many other unexplained things in Gibbs' life, it had to do with Shannon. The violent loss of his first wife and his daughter had colored his life from that time to this. Fornell had known from the moment their relationship turned that he would always be second to the memory of Gibbs' first true love. It occasionally bothered him, but he'd known what he was getting into when he opened his heart to the retired Marine and he had never bothered trying to fight it.

Most nights, Gibbs slept on the living room couch. When Fornell needed a place to crash on a work night, Gibbs stayed with the couch and Fornell slept in the bedroom Gibbs had prepared for him, the room that used to be his guest room. Only when they wanted to sleep – or not sleep – together did they share the master bedroom. It gave the room a special 'theirs' feeling he hoped would translate into security in Gibbs' mind.

Fornell finished his task at the dresser then knocked on the bathroom door. There was no answer from inside.

"Jethro, I'm coming in," Fornell said, and reached for the handle. It didn't move. Fornell couldn't believe what his hand was telling him. Gibbs didn't even routinely lock the front door, much less any interior one. He tried it again, same result.

"Jethro, open the door," Fornell called loudly. He rattled the door in the frame. The water kept flowing.

"Jethro, you hear me? Get out and open the door," Fornell repeated, raising his voice. Nothing.

"Don't make me break it down!" he threatened and shook the door harder. It was just a hollow-core plywood item, probably easily breeched, but he didn't figure Gibbs would want to have to replace it.

He was saved from having to make the choice by the water suddenly shutting off. The rings slid across the curtain rod and 30 seconds later, the door opened. Gibbs was standing on the mat in a white bathrobe. Fornell had seen the bathrobe hanging on the back of the bathroom door for years, but had never seen Gibbs wear it.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," Gibbs said. He retreated, returning to the sink. He picked up his toothbrush and spread paste on it.

"I've got soup on downstairs. Come down when you're ready," Fornell said. Gibbs nodded and Fornell left him there. As he descended to the main floor, Fornell wondered how many times Gibbs was going to have to brush his teeth before he stopped tasting that bastard.

Gibbs appeared downstairs fifteen minutes later. He was dressed in sweats, night clothes for him even though it was still early. He paused by the thermostat at the bottom of the stairs and made an adjustment. A moment later, the boiler kicked on. He came into the kitchen.

"It'll be ready in a few minutes," Fornell said, stirring the soup.

"Not hungry," Gibbs said.

"You need to eat. You can't take those meds on an empty stomach."

Gibbs nodded. He opened the pantry and stared inside for a minute before swinging the door shut.

"I'll go shopping tomorrow," Fornell said. Gibbs nodded again. He drifted out into the dining room. He pulled out a chair, looking at it. With a sigh, he moved into the living room and picked up one of his pillows, bringing it back to the table. Gibbs set it on the chair before taking a careful seat. It still hurt, but not bad.

He glanced over the pill bottles Fornell had lined up and picked out the three bottles of antiretrovirals, forming them up in their own line a few inches ahead of the rest.

"What time is it?" Gibbs asked.

"Almost 7:00," Fornell answered. He set the stirring spoon aside and pulled Gibbs' watch out of his pocket, carrying it out to him.

"You thinking about starting those now?" Fornell asked, seeing his interest in the bottles.

"Good a time as any. Always up by then in the morning, usually at the end of the work day by then." He accepted the watch, setting it on the table. The abrasions on his wrists were far too tender to consider strapping it on.

"Might as well take them all at once," Fornell said, and poked the antibiotics and the stool softener out of line to join the first three bottles.

Gibbs nodded again, his head bobbing up and down.

"How's your pain?" Fornell asked, resting a finger on top of the Vicodin bottle.

"Don't need it yet," Gibbs said.

"Let me wrap your wrists," Fornell said, and Gibbs nodded once more. Fornell returned to the kitchen and washed his hands. He brought back a pair of scissors and sat beside Gibbs. He carefully applied the ointment, following up with the gauze, which he secured with medical tape.

Nursing done for now, Fornell served up two bowls of soup, carrying them out to the table. He poured two mugs of coffee and filled a large glass with water, grabbing spoons before taking his seat at the table.

Gibbs opened each of the ARV bottles, using the butt of the spoon to tear through the silver foil seals inside. He fished out the cotton padding and tapped a pill out of each. Two capsules and a tablet. All larger than an aspirin, smaller than a multivitamin. He opened the antibiotic bottle and removed one. Larger than the others. He tore open the box containing the stool softener and pushed one through the blister pack. A red and white liquid gel, the smallest of them all. He poked at the five items until they were in a line on the table, then stared at them.

"Eat, Jethro," Fornell said. "You can take them after."

Gibbs picked up the spoon and scooped up a little soup, blowing on it. As soon as the spoon crossed his lips, he gagged and began to cough. The soup spilled back into the bowl.

"Aw, come on, it's not that bad," Fornell said with an attempt at levity. Gibbs wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tried again. Gagging, coughing. Gibbs put the spoon down next to the bowl, reflexively swallowing what was left in his mouth.

"What's wrong?" Fornell asked.

Gibbs shook his head. He looked at the soup, looked at the line of pills, picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. It went down easy, as always.

"You need to eat," Fornell said again, his voice soft and full of compassion.

Gibbs picked up the bowl and took a careful sip. It was too hot to eat that way, but he didn't choke on it. He set the bowl down and went to the kitchen, picking three ice cubes out of the freezer before returning to slide them into the soup. He stirred slowly until the ice was melted, then picked up the bowl again. That was better.

Fornell continued to sip slowly at his own dinner. He wasn't sure why Gibbs was having trouble, but he was happy enough that Gibbs was eating so he said nothing.

When the bowl was empty, Gibbs pushed it aside and again considered the pills. He wasn't someone who normally took a lot of medicine. Aspirin for a rare hangover, Excedrin for headaches, stronger stuff when he was injured on the job. That was about the limit of it. He'd occasionally taken antibiotics when injuries drew blood, and when he had his wisdom teeth out while he was still a young Marine. He'd never taken a long-term course of medication, and he'd never taken more than one medication at a time. The very idea of 10 pills or more every day for the next ten days, then at least six a day for another 18 days after that was daunting.

Fornell said nothing. There was a tension surrounding Gibbs that he could feel from across the table. He watched out of the tops of his eyes as Gibbs used his index finger to push the pills around on the table. He lined them up biggest to smallest. He arranged them in a triangle. He pushed then back into a straight line.

"It's good medicine, Jethro. It'll do its thing, you'll be done with it, you'll move on. It's short term."

"I know," Gibbs said. He picked up the water glass and started tossing back the pills, one at a time, largest to smallest. When they were all gone, he finished the water before turning back to his coffee.

They spent the rest of the evening mostly in silence. When the dishes were washed and the remains of the soup was stored in the fridge, Gibbs moved out to the living room and sat on the couch. He sat there for more than an hour with his head back, saying nothing, doing nothing. Fornell sat on the easy chair, at first watching Gibbs, then reading through a technical journal he'd brought over the week before. Normally, Gibbs would have gone down to the basement to work on something, with Fornell sitting on a stool watching him, sharing space and comfortable small talk. Tonight – not surprisingly – Gibbs didn't make the descent.

Finally, Gibbs broke the silence. "We weren't expecting anyone to be there," he said without raising his head or opening his eyes.

Fornell put down the magazine. "Oh?" he asked.

"It was a routine property check. The building'd been abandoned for more than a year. Condemned by the District."

"What were you looking for?" Fornell asked.

"Forensics, mostly," Gibbs said. "It was a long shot, hoping there'd be prints or trace that matched what we found on our Navy victim."

"Reasonable," Fornell said.

"The building had two halves, branching off from the lobby. We split up to clear it."

Fornell said nothing.

"I finished my side, Tony wasn't there. I started to double back and one of them stepped out of a side room, gun already up. I didn't even get a chance to draw."

"It happens sometimes," Fornell said. "No one's perfect."

"This guy was silent. Didn't even sense him 'til he was standing in front of me."

"It happens," Fornell repeated.

"The guy dragged me to an upper room. The whole time, I was hoping Tony'd just been slow. That he'd get to the end and come looking for me."

Gibbs took a breath. "They got him first. Beat the hell out of him before I even knew he was in trouble. Took our guns, went through our wallets... He called me by name the whole time."

A long pause followed. Fornell watched him. When he was pretty sure Gibbs wasn't going to continue, he asked the question that had been bothering him all day.

"Why'd you make the deal?" he asked. Gibbs rolled his head toward Fornell, looking at him for the first time in more than an hour.

"I had to," Gibbs said. "I couldn't let them..." he swallowed. "I couldn't let them hurt him like that."

"So you let them hurt you instead," Fornell said. He was trying to keep his voice level. Apparently he failed, because Gibbs' eyes narrowed.

"What choice did I have?" Gibbs asked.

Fornell sighed. "Hell, I don't know. Just... it had to be you?"

"You saw what they did to him, Tobias. He'd already taken his share. I had to stop them from hurting him anymore."

Fornell struggled not to further the argument. He didn't know what he would have done in the same situation. He wouldn't wish that fate on anyone, but with everything he was, he wished it had been anyone other than the man he loved.

Gibbs settled back against the couch and the silence returned. Fornell didn't go back to his magazine, instead trying to let his mind clear. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about anything.

It was almost nine o'clock and Fornell was starting to feel a little drifty when Gibbs shoved himself off the couch.

"Wanna give me a hand?" he asked. Fornell nodded and joined him as Gibbs gathered the cream, the medicated powder, and the douches. He hesitated, then picked up the Vicodin and the sleep aid. With Fornell hovering behind him, he climbed the stairs to the master bedroom.

"Can you..." He held up the meds.

"Of course," Fornell said. He took the supplies from Gibbs. "You want to do the enema first?"

Gibbs sighed. He'd forgotten that part. "Sure," he said, and went into the bathroom.

They'd done it many times before and were comfortable with the procedure, though usually it was for a more pleasurable purpose. This time, there was a stiffness between them that made Gibbs hesitate and Fornell fumble. What was usually second nature was instead tense and awkward. When the bag was ready, Gibbs carefully laid down on towels on the bathroom floor. He declined Fornell's offer to help and inserted the nozzle himself. He groaned a little at the burn of the nozzle against the tears, groaned a lot minutes later when he transferred to the toilet and the resulting material flowed out.

When it was done, Fornell mixed the wash and helped him with that, too. Again, Gibbs did the insertion himself. The douche nozzle was smaller and went in easier. The fluid was warm and caused a tingling sensation against sensitive tissues that wasn't exactly unpleasant. It flowed in and out immediately, soothing the burn from the enema.

Afterwards, Gibbs laid out on his stomach on the bed with his arms by his sides and let Fornell apply the cream. Fornell took it slow, talked him through it, and was pleased when Gibbs flinched only slightly. It was Fornell's first look at the damage, and he barely managed to keep silent. He wanted to scream, yell, curse at the bastard who'd done this. He held his tongue only because he knew that wasn't what Gibbs needed right now. Now, he had a partner to take care of, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

To be continued...

{Staring right back at "E," trying not to be creeped out...}

{grin}


	9. Chapter 9

**Fair warning: There be smut here. Just a smidge. :)**

* * *

**Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 9**

**by HidingInSight**

* * *

_At the end of a really, REALLY, long day..._

Gibbs took two Vicodin, then brushed his teeth once more before finally laying down for the night. Fornell watched him, uncertain of his welcome. Usually, Gibbs sleeping up here meant he wanted company. Fornell wasn't at all sure that applied this time. As much as he wanted to hold Gibbs close tonight, protect him from the demons that would surely come, he was fully prepared to sleep in his bedroom for the duration if that made his partner more comfortable.

"Tobias, come to bed," Gibbs said softly when he saw Fornell's hesitation. The FBI man smiled.

"Let me get changed and turn out the lights. I'll be right back." Quickly, before Gibbs could change his mind, Fornell slipped down the stairs and checked the house was secure before turning out all the lights. Gibbs had started locking the front door at night when they were together to prevent an embarrassing revelation should one of his team decide a midnight conference was necessary. It hadn't happened yet, but Fornell figured it was inevitable. He hurried back to his bedroom and stripped, pulling on house pants and a t-shirt. He left his clothes where they fell. After a moment's thought, he removed his sidearm from its holster and took it with him to the master bedroom. Gibbs noticed the gun on his return.

"Need to report our weapons stolen," Gibbs said, like the thought had just occurred to him. And maybe it had.

"I had McGee take care of it," Fornell said. "There'll be new ones ready for you when you get back to work." Fornell laid the gun on the nightstand on his side of the bed and climbed in. With a small sound of pain, Gibbs rolled over to face him. The moonlight was coming in through the open shutters over the bedroom windows, partially illuminating the bed.

"What story did you give him?" Gibbs asked. He reached across the space between them and brushed his fingers through the thin hair at Fornell's temple.

"I told him you'd explain tomorrow," Fornell said.

Gibbs nodded. "Thank you." He fell silent, watching Fornell from a distance of a foot or less. Finally he spoke again, his voice a mere whisper in the dim light.

"Will you just... lay with me?" Gibbs asked. Fornell heard the unspoken message, loud and clear: Would he share the bed without touching, without initiating anything, without asking for anything?

"Yes," Fornell said. "For tonight and for as long as you need. I'm just glad you're here."

"Me too," Gibbs said.

***x*x*x*x***

It didn't surprise Fornell when he was awakened by Gibbs twitching and crying out in his sleep. He'd fully expected it. It did surprise him that it was nearly dawn when it happened. He opened his eyes to find Gibbs spooned back against him in an almost fetal position, his hands fisted at his groin. As he watched, Gibbs' leg kicked out and he mumbled something in a stressed tone that Fornell couldn't quite make out. Fornell leaned in slightly to whisper in Gibbs' ear.

"Wake up, Jethro," he said.

The reaction was immediate. Gibbs stiffened, then launched himself off the bed, tore open the top drawer of the nearby dresser, jerked out the Walther P-22 holstered beneath the dresser top, and swung it around to point it directly at Fornell. The G-man was impressed.

"Get out!" Gibbs shouted.

"Jethro, wake up," Fornell said calmly.

Gibbs stared at him with wild eyes for a five count, then he blinked a few times and his expression cleared. The muzzle of the gun instantly swung up to point at the ceiling and Gibbs took a hard breath.

"You awake now?" Fornell asked. Gibbs nodded and gently set the gun on the nightstand without looking away from Fornell. He stood for a moment before breaking eye contact, then sat on the edge of the bed and dropped his head to his hands. Fornell shuffled across the bed and sat up beside him.

"You okay?" he asked. Gibbs nodded without looking up. Fornell risked bumping his thigh against Gibbs'. The action made the Navy man look sideways at him, dropping his arms to lean elbows on knees.

"It's alright," Fornell said. Gibbs shook his head.

"I almost shot you," Gibbs said miserably.

"You didn't," Fornell said.

"I could've," Gibbs said.

"Not with that gun," Fornell said. When Gibbs frowned, Fornell leaned across Gibbs to the nightstand, picked up the gun and released the clip, showing it to him. It was empty.

Gibbs frowned, obviously confused. "I keep it loaded," he said.

"I know. Which is why I unloaded it last night while you were in the shower. Along with every other gun in the house. The only serviceable weapon left around here is mine." He pointed over his shoulder.

"Why?" Gibbs asked.

"Loaded guns and recent trauma are a bad combination," Fornell said. "I didn't want to get shot." He paused. "Or have to explain to your team how I let you shoot yourself."

Gibbs nodded. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths in through his nose and out through pursed lips, trying to flush out the adrenalin rush.

"You make any other changes I should know about?" Gibbs asked after his heart rate and breathing had settled to manageable numbers.

"Locked the doors," Fornell said. Gibbs made a "hmm" sound. Fornell continued. "There's a hell of a lot less bourbon in the house than there was 24 hours ago."

"Did you leave me any?" Gibbs asked.

"Some," Fornell said.

"Enough?" Gibbs asked.

"Probably not," Fornell said.

Gibbs nodded again. Another period of time passed before he spoke again.

"I was dreaming," he said.

"I figured," Fornell said. "About yesterday?" he asked.

Gibbs nodded. He said nothing for a long moment. "You startled me," he said finally.

"When?" Fornell asked.

"When I felt that," he said, gesturing vaguely toward Fornell.

Fornell frowned, not understanding. Gibbs waved a hand more specifically toward Fornell's middle, and Fornell looked down at himself. His house pants were tented with morning wood. His gaze immediately shifted to Gibbs' lap, which was showing nothing.

"Sorry," Fornell said. He fought a sudden urge to cover up.

"It's alright," Gibbs said.

"Nothing I can do about that," Fornell said, willing it to go down. It hadn't worked in high school, and it didn't work now.

"I can," Gibbs said. He turned slightly on the bed and reached across, laying a hand gently on Fornell's thigh. He held it there for a minute, eyes down. Fornell looked at him, saying nothing. Gibbs' hand slid inwards and turned to cup his erection. Fornell stayed still. Wrapping his hand fully around him, Gibbs squeezed gently, turning what had been a pure physiological response to REM sleep into something more purposeful. When Gibbs applied more pressure, Fornell's breath hitched a little and he bit the inside of his lip. He was watching Gibbs' face, seeking an invitation to reciprocate, and finding none. Gibbs kept his gaze down, looking at his hand. He began to rub Fornell through the cloth and the fed closed his eyes, struggling to stay still.

The rhythm built and the pleasure with it. Fornell leaned backward on his hands and began rocking his hips slightly in response. He felt a familiar tingling in his balls and knew he was getting close. Just as he thought he was about to fall, Gibbs' hand slowed and then stopped. Fornell's eyes fluttered open and he looked over at Gibbs, breathing hard. Gibbs was staring at him intently, his gaze narrowed and his mouth set in a line, his hand resting atop Fornell's straining erection.

"Please," Fornell said, his voice strangled. Gibbs said nothing, just kept staring, his hand not moving.

A few moments passed and Fornell caught his breath. He held Gibbs' eye, his brain too scattered to make sense of what was happening.

"Please, Jethro, move," he said, and Gibbs licked his lips before giving him a small smile. Gibbs moved, but instead of resuming his stroking, he carefully stood and turned to kneel on the floor in front of Fornell, wincing only a little at the pressure on his knees. He reached across and slipped his fingers through the fly of Fornell's loose pants, twisting the button free as he went. Fornell wasn't wearing underwear. When Gibbs' fingers brushed against Fornell's hardness, Fornell couldn't keep back a groan. Gibbs took him fully in hand before raising his other hand to Fornell's face, locking their eyes again. He cupped his cheek, a thumb resting against the corner of his mouth, and squeezed his erection. It only took a few strokes before Fornell came with a cry, his seed spilling over Gibbs' hand. Gibbs held him while the spasms died, his hand warm and wet.

"Thank you," Fornell said when he could speak again. Gibbs smiled and finally withdrew his hand. He stared at the mess there, raising his hand part way to his face before jerking back slightly. He wiped his hand clean on Fornell's pants, then used Fornell's knees to push himself to his feet.

"Can I...?" Fornell asked, gesturing toward Gibbs' groin. Usually that kind of activity would have Gibbs ready for his own piece of the action, but his sweats revealed his lack of arousal. Gibbs shook his head and retreated to the bathroom. The water ran for a minute while Gibbs washed his hands before he returned with a wet cloth, handing it to Fornell.

Without another word, Gibbs turned and headed for the bathroom again. He began to swing the door shut, stopping when Fornell called out to him.

"Don't lock it?" Fornell asked. Gibbs nodded again and closed the door. Fornell sat with the cloth in his hand, his breathing and heart rate slowly returning to normal, until he heard the sounds of Gibbs once again brushing his teeth. With a sigh, he shoved down his pants and used the cloth to clean himself up.

The water in the sink stopped, and the shower started. Fornell went back to his bedroom and considered getting dressed. It was barely 5:30 in the morning, on a day neither one of them was going to work. Maybe he could convince Gibbs to come back to bed when he got out of the shower. On that thought, he went to his room and changed into a fresh set of sleep pants. He went downstairs to retrieve the ointment and bandages for Gibbs' wrists before returning to their bed.

The shower was shorter this time, only 15 minutes or so. Gibbs emerged in a cloud of steam, dressed again in his sweats, his towel-dried hair sticking up in all directions. He saw Fornell lying on the bed and paused.

"Come back to bed, Jethro. It's early."

Gibbs stood in the doorway for a moment before raising his hands to show the wounds on his wrists.

"I've got it," Fornell said, sitting up and picking the supplies off the nightstand. Gibbs carefully lowered himself onto the bed in front of Fornell, who quickly redid the bandages. They laid down facing each other. Gibbs placed a hand under his head, and after a moment, rested the other hand against Fornell's chest. He bent his knees so their legs touched. Fornell took that as a tentative grant of permission and reached out to mirror Gibbs' position. He did a quick visual scan. The bruises on Gibbs' neck were darker this morning, almost black against his skin. The petechiae hadn't gotten any worse, thankfully.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Fornell asked.

"Tired," Gibbs said. His breath was a wash of mint so strong Fornell wondered if he'd left some toothpaste behind.

"How's your pain?"

"Bearable," Gibbs said.

"You need pain meds?" he asked.

"Just took some," Gibbs said. Fornell nodded, hiding his surprise.

A few minutes passed as the men looked at each other before Gibbs spoke again.

"I can't promise that isn't going to happen again," he said.

"I hope it does happen again. A lot," Fornell said. Gibbs smiled a little.

"Not that," he said.

"Too bad. Cuz that was pretty nice."

The smile got a bit bigger. "I'm serious," Gibbs said.

"So am I," Fornell said. "But I know what you mean, and it's okay. We'll keep the guns unloaded as long as you need."

"I can be dangerous without a gun," Gibbs said. "Maybe we ought to sleep separate until this thing resolves."

Fornell considered that, then carefully phrased his response.

"If you need to sleep alone for a while, I don't have a problem with that," Fornell said. "But don't think you're doing it to protect me. I'm with you on this, Jethro. For better or for worse. Whatever comes up, we'll handle it."

Gibbs nodded a little and pet at Fornell's chest. "I could hurt you," he said.

"Not likely," Fornell said. "I may be older than you, but I'm still pretty quick."

A smile and a grunt of humor from Gibbs, followed by another time of silence.

"I don't want to feel this way, Tobias," Gibbs said after a while.

"I know," Fornell said.

Gibbs nodded again. As usual, Fornell understood him without explanation. It was one of the things he loved about the man. He opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped and sighed instead. The quiet in the bedroom grew long, but not uncomfortable. Gibbs pushed his hand under Fornell's shirt. He began to draw idle circles on Fornell's chest, twisting his fingers through curls of chest hair. The touch was intended to comfort and connect, not to arouse, and it was good. Gibbs snuggled further into the bedding, sliding his knee between Fornell's. Fornell slid his hand around to gently rest it on Gibbs' hip. They lay together in the increasing light, drifting a little, neither fully asleep nor fully awake, until Fornell's phone began to shrill and startled them both.

* * *

To be continued.


	10. Chapter 10

**Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 10**

**by HidingInSight**

* * *

They lay together in the increasing light, drifting a little, neither fully asleep nor fully awake, until Fornell's phone began to shrill and startled them both.

"Seven o'clock," Fornell said. For a second, the meaning of that didn't register. Then it did, and Gibbs sighed and rolled over, sitting up.

They reluctantly started the day. Fornell helped Gibbs with the douche and the cream before they trooped downstairs. Gibbs again took five pills with water. Fornell started coffee while Gibbs sat at the table and called Ducky at the hospital. DiNozzo had had a good night overall, the ME reported. Between being woken every hour for concussion protocol testing and occasionally waking between times with sleep disturbances – Ducky intentionally did not call them nightmares – the younger man hadn't gotten much sleep. Nevertheless, he'd passed the tests with flying colors, his nausea and dizziness had resolved, and he was scheduled to be released in a few hours. Gibbs told Ducky to see him home. They'd both take the day off. He'd clear it with Vance.

"How is he?" Fornell asked.

"Concussion symptoms resolved," Gibbs said. "Ducky's gonna take him home."

"What are you going to tell Vance?" Fornell asked.

"Head injuries times two, broken ribs times one, with a side of occupational blood exposure during a fight."

"That'll generate a ton of paperwork," Fornell said.

Gibbs shrugged. "Can't be helped. Those drugs are gonna kick my ass, I can already feel it. Gotta explain taking time off in the middle of a hot case somehow. Not to mention it's gonna be a week before DiNozzo can see again."

"And when the truth gets out?"

"It's not getting out," Gibbs said firmly. Fornell poured two mugs of coffee and brought them over.

"You can't keep a secret this big forever. If nothing else, when we catch the bastard..."

"He'll go down for everything else," Gibbs interrupted. "No reason to bring me into it."

Fornell sipped his coffee. "You gonna be okay with that? Him not paying for what he did to you?"

"He'll pay," Gibbs said. "They all will. I'll be perfectly happy seeing him do life on behalf of the rest of the victims." Fornell didn't push it any further for the moment. Life, death, whatever.

"You gonna lie to your team, too?" he asked. Might as well get it all out now.

"It's not lying, it's Rule 4," he said.

Fornell frowned. He wasn't as good at 'The Rules' as Gibbs' people.

"Something about secrets?" he thought out loud.

"Best way to keep a secret is keep it to yourself. Second best, tell one other person, if you must. There is no third best," Gibbs quoted.

"I think you already blew that one," Fornell said. He counted on his fingers: "You, me, DiNozzo, Ducky..." He waggled four. "That's already two too many, even if you don't count the hospital staff."

Gibbs shrugged and drank his coffee. He knew Fornell was right. Eventually, he was going to have to tell McGee and David – and Abby – what had happened. But he knew it would change things between them. Their team's dynamic had been carefully cultivated over many years, and something like this could destroy it.

"It won't work," Fornell said. "Your people are too smart, and they know you too well."

"Maybe," Gibbs admitted. When he said nothing more, Fornell decided to let it go for now.

"So what do you wanna do today?" he asked.

"Go to work," Gibbs said, then continued when Fornell began to object: "You asked what I wanted to do, not what I was going to do. I'm going to stay home and try not to go stir crazy."

"Didn't you say you needed the hardware store?" Fornell asked.

Gibbs nodded. "Not going there like this, though," he said, gesturing toward his neck. "They know me. They'll ask."

"Can I get what you need?" Fornell asked, and Gibbs had to smile. Fornell at the hardware store. Yeah, he could see that.

"Nah. I'll find something to occupy the time," Gibbs said.

Fornell nodded. Keeping Gibbs busy away from work was definitely going to be a challenge, especially if he was feeling well enough to be up. They'd deal with that one day at a time. He drank more coffee.

"We need groceries," Fornell said a minute later. "You gonna be okay here while I go?

"It's my house, Tobias. I'm always okay here," Gibbs said.

"Your address isn't on your driver's license," Fornell said.

"No," Gibbs said, not sure what the point was. Like many members of law enforcement, the address displayed on his license was the office. Helped prevent unpleasant visits should a wallet be lost or stolen in an inopportune location.

"He went through your wallet, but he doesn't know where you live," Fornell said, and Gibbs nodded. "You're safe here."

"I know," Gibbs said, and Fornell nodded.

"Good. Make me a list, I'll go out after I get dressed," Fornell said.

While Fornell showered, Gibbs dressed and brushed his teeth again. In his head, he knew there was nothing of the bastard left in his mouth. He also knew in his head it was ridiculous to keep compulsively brushing his teeth. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't get rid of the taste of him.

For a minute this morning, when his hand was covered with Tobias' seed, he thought he might be able to replace the foulness with something familiar and sweet. He'd raised his hand to his face, prepared to lick it away, when the smell had hit him. He'd recoiled, instantly flashing back to the day before, the scent of semen and blood filling his nose. Then he couldn't get it off his hands fast enough.

The feeling would pass, eventually. He knew that. But he didn't want to wait. He wanted to regain control. Now.

**E-E-E-E-E**

When Fornell was ready to go, Gibbs gave him a list and asked him to drop by NCIS and pick up a replacement phone. He would feel better when he had direct contact with his team again. Fornell promised to be quick.

Gibbs refilled his coffee and sat on the couch. He put the cup on the coffee table and leaned his head back, closing his eyes for a self-inventory. His backside was sore, but not as bad as it had been. The Vicodin was doing its thing. He wasn't sure sitting at his desk was going to be comfortable anytime soon, and even sitting here on the softness of the couch wasn't exactly easy, but it was tolerable. The medicated cream Tobias had applied obviously had an anesthetic process. The tingle and burn as it went on had quickly resolved to a general numbness. If he concentrated, he could feel where the cream had spilled over a little on one side, carrying the numbness with it.

He still had a headache. It was a feeling of pressure, centered above his right ear and spreading out toward his forehead on that side. Right where the doctor had said the 'contra-coupe' injury had occurred. The soft spot on the opposite side was tender to the touch, the skin around it tight. He'd had many worse headaches and in the big picture, it wasn't a big deal.

His neck was also sore to touch. He could feel swelling when he swallowed, but it wasn't bad. It certainly wasn't enough to explain why he'd had so much trouble eating soup last night. He knew it wasn't pain that had made him gag like that. It was... something else. Something that resolved immediately when he drank it instead of using the spoon. Something he was not ready to think about right now.

His shoulders were still stiff. They'd been stretched beyond their comfort zone and old muscles were objecting. Not exactly painful, just stiff. His low back felt the same. Stiff.

His wrists were sore. He'd examined them in the shower this morning before Tobias had rebandaged them. The abrasions on his left wrist were already beginning to scab over. The ones on the right were still open. Another thing that would be with him for a while. He'd have to talk to Ducky about whether there was any way to prevent – or at least reduce – scarring. Not that scars bothered him, usually, but that kind of scar could only come from being tied up. He'd really like to avoid spending the rest of his life carrying around that kind of self-explanatory evidence, out there for everyone to see.

The scratches on his chest had already begun to fade. A few days and he knew they'd be gone without a trace. That was something, anyway.

He could feel a slight instability in his stomach. Not nausea, really, just something not quite balanced. Presumably the early stages of side effects the ARVs. The nurse, Jessica, had said he should plan to take a week off to deal with the worst of it. Gibbs hadn't taken that much time off since he sailed his boat down the Intracoastal Waterway to the Gulf of Mexico, more than three years before. Taking the time off wouldn't be horrible: The problem would be keeping busy, and keeping his mind off what was keeping him home.

Gibbs sighed and reached under the end table for the pillow and blanket he kept there for use when he slept on the couch. He turned to lay down, stuffing the pillow under his head and shaking the blanket out over himself. He felt tired, body and mind. With nothing better to do now anyway, he closed his eyes.

**E-E-E-E-E**

There was a light, almost tentative knock on the door that made Gibbs start awake some time later. No one who knew him expected him to be home during the day, and with his truck not in the driveway, no one would be looking for him here. He sat unmoving, waiting for whoever it was to go away.

The tapping came again. Gibbs sat up to look over the back of the couch out the front window.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath. Abby's red 1932 Deuce Coupe was parked at the curb. There was no reason for her to be looking for him. He hadn't called in sick yet, and it wasn't late enough that she'd have been worried he hadn't shown up. Which meant he'd either been ratted out by DiNozzo or Ducky, or she'd found something in the evidence that had brought her here instead of calling. Neither situation was one he wanted to deal with this morning. The fact that she was knocking instead of just coming inside probably meant she didn't really want to deal with it either. Which made his heart sink a little, wondering what she might have figured out.

A change in the room's pressure as the front door opened made Gibbs sigh. He really needed to start locking the door.

"Gibbs?" A small call out, barely above a whisper. For a second, he thought about staying quiet and pretending he wasn't here. Reality check said she'd see him in another two steps.

"In here, Abby," he said, swinging his feet to the floor. The front door closed, but Abby didn't come into the living room. He waited. She didn't appear.

"Abby?"

"Yeah?" she said, still out of sight in the entryway.

"You coming in?"

He heard her move and she slid around the short wall, her back against the end of it. She was looking across the room toward the kitchen, and most definitely not looking at him.

"Abby?" he said again.

"Yeah?"

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted to see you," she said. "To be sure you were okay." Her voice was flatter than normal, with none of the natural exuberance she seemed to carry with her everywhere.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" he asked. She still hadn't come in, and still hadn't looked at him.

"You're not at work," she said.

"Maybe I'm running late," he said.

"You're never late," she countered.

"Maybe I've got the flu."

She shook her head, still not looking his way. "You never get the flu." She pushed off the wall and walked across to the dining room. Gibbs watched her back as she stopped next to the table. There were six pill bottles and the box of stool softeners still lined up there. She picked each one up and read the label before putting it back again.

"I want it not to be true," she said, not turning around.

"What?" he asked. How much did she know?

"Tell me it's not true," she said. "Please?"

"Abby, look at me," Gibbs said softly.

Abby shook her head. She rested her hands on the back of one of the chairs. He noticed she was dressed down today: oversize black jeans, an oversize black hoodie, black boots but not platforms. Her hair was in low ponytails, tied off with plain elastic bands. Her neck was collarless.

"Were you up all night?" Gibbs guessed. She nodded. "You get that evidence processed for me?" She nodded again. "You running the suspect DNA?"

"I sent it in a few hours ago," she said. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" he asked.

"That you and Tony got hurt," she said.

"Didn't want you to worry," Gibbs said. It was part of the truth.

"How bad is it?"

"We got knocked around a little. Tony's got a concussion, a broken rib, and a fracture in his eye socket, but no permanent damage. He'll be fine in a week or so."

"And you?" she asked.

"Bruised up. A minor head injury. Got an exposure I'm going to have to take medicine for. Not a big deal." It was said with a last, desperate prayer that she hadn't figured it out.

Abby seemed to crumble a little, her shoulders sagging, her head dropping and her hands falling to her sides.

"You've never done that before," she said, her voice hitching a little. He thought she was probably crying.

"What?" he asked.

"Lied to me."

He pushed himself off the couch, biting back a groan, and moved toward her, stopping three feet away.

"Look at me, Abby, please?" he said. She shook her head and hugged herself. He closed the gap and raised a hand to her arm. Abby turned with a cry, burying her face in his neck without opening her closed eyes. He put his arms around her and held her tight. Without her platform boots, she was inches shorter than he was and he rested his cheek against the top of her head. She was trembling.

"How did you find out?" he asked quietly after a minute.

"Your clothes."

He frowned, not following. "My clothes?"

"The clothes you were wearing yesterday were in the evidence," she said, and he clenched his jaw in frustration. Of course. Why the hell hadn't he thought about that?

"I didn't want it to be true," Abby continued. "I wanted to think it was a big coincidence, that maybe you just got evidence on you or something. Then I saw the pictures."

"The pictures," Gibbs repeated.

"I recognized your hands. And the scar on your shoulder, from where Ari shot you. Then I knew it was you. But I still hoped..." Now she was really crying. He held her tightly.

"Oh, Abby, sometimes you're just too smart," he said softly.

"Were you ever going to tell me?" she asked in a broken voice.

"I hoped I wouldn't have to," Gibbs said.

Gibbs held her until her cries faded and she relaxed against him.

"Are you going to look at me now?" Gibbs asked. She nodded and pulled away slightly, slowly looking up. Her dark eyes were wet, small traces of mascara leaking from the corners. Her gaze settled first on his neck and she reached up to lightly brush her fingertips against the bruises there. She finally looked at his face, raised a hand to touch his temple, tracing around his eyes.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"You saw the photos," he said. "You know what the damage is."

"I didn't," Abby said, shaking her head quickly. "I mean, I didn't see them all. As soon as I knew they were... you... I stopped looking. I didn't want to see anymore of... you."

Gibbs chuckled a little. "I appreciate that, Abby. I trust you to be discrete."

She nodded again. "I sealed them back up and locked them in my desk," she said. "No one else will see them."

"Thank you," Gibbs said. He let her go. She went back to examining the medicine bottles.

"There's no pain medication here," she noted. "Didn't they give you any?"

"It's upstairs," he said.

"Are you using it?" she asked, and turned to him.

"Yes," he said, and she frowned. She knew what that meant.

"So you're not alright," she said.

"I will be," Gibbs said. "Probably be back to work before DiNozzo."

"Was he... too?"

"No," Gibbs said. He returned to the living room to pick up his coffee and sat down on the couch again. "He's pretty beat up, though."

She nodded and followed him into the living room, standing on the other side of the coffee table to stare down at him.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice small again. "How did he get you?"

"We can't win every time, Abs," Gibbs said. "Law of averages says they'll get us every now and then."

"Yeah, but..."

"But nothing. Come here." He pulled the blanket out of the way and patted the couch next to him. She hesitated.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "I don't want to..." She made an ambiguous gesture with her hand.

"Abby, sit," Gibbs grumped, and her mouth quirked up with a shadow of a smile. She came around the coffee table and sat down. He put an arm around her shoulder and she snuggled into him.

"When I was in college, I had a friend who was... hurt like that," Abby began.

"You can say the word, Abby," Gibbs said into her hair.

"Raped," she said, the word rolling uncomfortably off her tongue. "I had a friend who was raped. She never got over it."

"Never?" Gibbs asked.

"She killed herself, about a month after it happened," Abby said. Gibbs squeezed her shoulder.

"Not something you have to worry about here, Abs. I'll be fine," he said.

"What if you're not?" she asked. "I don't want to lose you."

"Not a chance," Gibbs said. "Besides, Fornell took away all my bullets."

"What?" Abby said, jerking back to look at him. "That's not safe. What if the man who hurt you comes here?"

"He won't."

"How do you know?" she asked.

"He's not looking for me, Abby. He's a cocky bastard who thinks I won't report what he did because I'm too embarrassed or too scared, just like the others."

"But you're not going to report it, just like the others," Abby pointed out.

"The difference is, I don't have to report him to make sure he pays," Gibbs said. "He'll pay for what he did to me, and DiNozzo, and all the other victims, and my name will never have to come into it."

Abby sighed a little and leaned back into him. "Why did Agent Fornell take away your guns? Does he think you're dangerous?"

"Not my guns, just the bullets," Gibbs said. "He thought it was best I not be around loaded weapons for a while." He smiled. "He was right. He snuck up on me this morning and I nearly shot him."

"Eeee," Abby said, a sound that was 'uh oh' and 'yikes' and 'ouch' all at the same time. "Is he going to stay here with you?"

"I suspect so," Gibbs said.

"Good." She nodded against his chest. When she said nothing else, he did.

"That doesn't surprise you?" he asked.

"You're hurting. Where else would he be?" she asked.

Gibbs cocked his head, considering her. "Abby?"

She looked around at him again, saw the look on his face, and smiled. "Come on, Gibbs, you don't think I know?"

"What do you think you know?" Gibbs asked. He felt a flutter in his belly that had nothing to do with the drugs he was taking.

"I know you and Special Agent Fornell have become way more than friends."

The flutter became a lead weight.

"We have?" he asked.

"Of course," Abby said. "And I think it's great. He's really good for you."

"He is?"

"Oh yeah," she said. "He's what you've been trying to find for years: Someone to love who's strong enough to love you back."

"Really," Gibbs said.

"Uh huh," Abby said. "And you've been a lot less stressed since you two got together."

Gibbs fell silent, trying to decide whether to cop to it or not. Since his relationship with Fornell had turned, he hadn't really been hiding it from his team, but he hadn't made any big announcement, either. He'd known they'd figure it out eventually, and he'd been mostly ambivalent about what their reactions would be. His people didn't harbor prejudices. He didn't allow it. He was sure it would come as a surprise to all of them to find out Leroy Jethro Gibbs was in love with a man. It might even shock them. But they'd get over it, or they'd find somewhere else to work. He'd actually expected that Abby would take the news best, when it got out. He just wasn't aware it was already out.

"It doesn't bother you?" he finally asked.

"The heart wants what it wants," Abby said. "You can't fault someone for that."

Gibbs frowned, not sure he liked being compared to the source of the reference. Still, the message was true.

"Who else knows?" he asked.

"Ducky, for sure," Abby said. "Tony would know if he'd stop ignoring his gut. But he keeps dismissing what he sees because he's having trouble getting his head around the idea you might be gay."

And there it was. That word.

Gibbs didn't think of himself as gay. The way he understood it, being gay meant you were attracted to those of your same gender. He wasn't attracted to men. He was just attracted to Tobias Fornell. As a matter of fact, except for a few nights in the Corps when things got really bad, he hadn't been intimate with a man before the night he and Fornell had finally decided to stop screwing around and start... screwing around. He always had been – and still was – attracted to women. He just didn't sleep with them anymore. So what did that make him?

"Where was Tony, yesterday?" Abby asked, pulling him back from his ruminations.

"He was there. They got him first," Gibbs said. "After, he got us out of there, got help."

"Did he see..." she stopped. Gibbs squeezed her shoulder.

"Abby, that's enough. You already know more than you should. When will you have results for me?"

Abby shrugged. "Tomorrow. Maybe Friday. You didn't tell me to rush it."

Before Gibbs could say anything more, he heard tires in the driveway.

"Fornell's here," he said, and Abby straightened.

"I should get back to work," she said and started to rise.

"Wait," Gibbs said, holding her back. The sedan's engine shut off, doors opened and shut, and the kitchen door opened.

"Whose coup is that out front?" Fornell called. Gibbs heard bags clunking down on the kitchen counter.

"Abby's," Gibbs called back. A moment's silence, then a few items went into the fridge before Fornell appeared in the dining room.

"Hello, Abby," Fornell said.

"Hello," she replied.

"What are you doing here?" Fornell asked.

"She knows," Gibbs said.

"Knows?" Fornell said. He moved further into the room, looking down at them.

"Yesterday. And us," Gibbs said.

"Oh," Fornell said, and Gibbs could have sworn Fornell's cheeks reddened, for just a second. "You run his DNA?" he asked.

"Of course not," Abby said, sounding slightly insulted. "He told me not to."

"She recognized my clothes," Gibbs said. "And my hands, apparently." He glanced down at his hands, wondering what Abby'd seen in the picture that was at all unique.

"Oh," Fornell said again. "We should've thought of that."

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed.

"Anyone else know?"

"About us? Ducky knows, DiNozzo suspects."

"That's it?" Fornell asked.

"So far," Abby agreed.

"Your people aren't as smart as you give them credit for," Fornell said to Gibbs.

"They seem to be having trouble seeing me as gay," Gibbs said.

"Me too," Fornell agreed. "Are you staying for breakfast, Abby?"

"No. I have to get to work." She stood again, and this time, Gibbs let her go.

"You take care of him, Mister," she said, wagging her finger at Fornell.

"I will," Fornell promised. She surprised him by throwing her arms around him in a hug. She whispered in his ear: "Keep the guns unloaded." Fornell nodded.

"When are you coming back to work?" Abby asked Gibbs as she pulled away.

"Maybe tomorrow," Gibbs said. "See how I feel."

"Don't come back too soon. We need your 'A' game." She turned toward the door.

"Hey Abby?" Gibbs called to her. She turned back.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I don't want this getting out. Any of it. Are you okay with that?"

Abby chewed on her lip for a second. "Yes. Until and unless someone asks me to raise my right hand and swear to tell the truth, it's no one's business. None of it."

"That's my girl," Gibbs said with a smile. She dashed back and gave him a fierce seated hug that left him a little breathless before rushing out of the house. Her body language said she was better than when she'd arrived, but still far from normal.

Fornell stood in the living room watching out the front window until her car pulled away. "Brought breakfast," he said.

"Not hungry," Gibbs said.

"Sorry to hear that," Fornell said. He went into the kitchen, returning with two large plastic cups with straws sticking out the tops. He held one out to Gibbs.

"It's a strawberry banana smoothie. With protein. Drink it." Gibbs took it and pried the lid off, sniffing it suspiciously. It smelled okay. He ignored the straw and took a sip directly from the cup. A little gritty, but not bad.

Fornell took a new cell phone out of his pocket and held it up. It was the same model Gibbs been using for years. "McGee says you're running low on these. You're gonna have to learn to use a smartphone pretty soon."

Gibbs took it. "Not today," he said. He turned the power on. In a minute, a familiar tone rang out. He had messages. He was pleased to note his phone book and speed dials were already programmed. Sometimes he thought they didn't pay that kid nearly enough.

* * *

To be continued.


	11. Chapter 11

**Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 11**

**by HidingInSight**

* * *

As Fornell took a seat on the easy chair in the corner perpendicular to the couch, Gibbs listened to his messages. Nothing vital, nothing that couldn't wait. That done, he called Director Vance and sold the story: Suspects had gotten the drop on them, they'd been beat up, they'd be fine. Gibbs was being treated for a blood exposure.

Vance was predictably annoyed he hadn't been told all this yesterday. After making Gibbs repeat that they weren't seriously injured, he asked how long they'd be off. A week minimum for DiNozzo, Gibbs would be in and out, depending on the effect of the exposure medications. Vance told him to check in with Navy Medical as soon as possible to get the paperwork on the exposure completed, and reminded him to keep in touch.

Gibbs hung up and drank more smoothie. He looked to Fornell.

"Your people find anything at the building?"

"There was an office, with files. On the side DiNozzo was searching, presumably. Probably why the bastards were there."

"Have them send the files to McGee," Gibbs said. "If they collected trace from us, send it to Abby, eyes only."

Fornell nodded and took out his own cell. Gibbs called McGee.

"How's Tony?" was McGee's first question.

"They're releasing him in a few hours. He'll be off at least a week."

"Agent Fornell said you'd be off a couple days, too. Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Gibbs said, giving Fornell the evil eye. Fornell ignored him. "I'll be in tomorrow, part of the day at least."

"Did Agent Fornell give you the copies?"

"Of what?" Gibbs asked.

"He said you wanted copies of the case file, on the loan shark rapist."

"He did, huh?" Gibbs said, musing over that development.

"Was that not okay?" McGee asked, and Gibbs could hear his uncertainty.

"It's fine. I'll look at them later."

"Okay. You need me to tell Director Vance you're going to be off?"

"Covered," Gibbs said. "Find out when Ducky's taking DiNozzo home. Coordinate with Ziva, make sure someone's with him 24/7 until further notice."

"What if he doesn't want us there?" McGee asked. They all knew Tony considered his apartment his refuge, and didn't like visitors.

"Tell him tough. I don't want him alone."

"Okay," McGee said dubiously.

"Just take care of it, McGee. And make sure he's doing breathing exercises with that plastic doo-dad with the balls in it. Every half hour he's awake."

"Okay," McGee said again.

"Can you do a full cyber search from your laptop?" Gibbs asked.

"To the level of 'Secret.' Anything higher and I'd have to be on a hardline at the Yard."

"Secret'll be good enough," Gibbs said. "The FBI's gonna send over some evidence from the building we searched. Take it with you, work it from DiNozzo's place. You're in charge of this investigation until I get back."

"Understood," McGee said.

"Paper chase only. No one moves against this guy without clearing it with me first. Got it?"

"Got it, Boss," McGee said.

"Good. Call me if you find something." He hung up, drank more smoothie. It was getting more gritty toward the bottom and he swirled the cup to mix it. Fornell finished his own call.

"Along with some blood that's probably yours and traces of semen on the floor at the scene of the attack, they found a handkerchief it looks like he used to clean himself up," Fornell said.

Gibbs remembered. The pain between his legs, up his back, the thrusting, over and over, the hand at his neck, gasping for air, the bastard asking if he'd enjoyed it... the handkerchief fluttering down next to his head...

"Jethro?" A voice, right in front of him. Gibbs jerked backwards, his eyes unfocused. He jumped to his feet, lashing out, seeking escape.

"Jethro!" He blinked, his vision cleared. Fornell. Standing in front of him, both smoothies in his hands. He took a hard breath and sat down hard.

When Fornell had finished speaking and he realized Gibbs was falling into his memory, he'd acted immediately. He'd moved over in front of Gibbs and shoved the coffee table back out of the way with one foot, calling Jethro's name. There'd been no response. Gibbs' eyes were open, he was holding his smoothie half way to his mouth, and he was frozen. Fornell put a hand around the cup and called his name louder, ready when Gibbs suddenly let the drink go and stood. He was already taking a step back when Gibbs took a swing, and was able to easily duck out of the way. Another shout, and he got through.

"You with me?" Fornell asked, standing back a little, watching Gibbs.

Gibbs was sitting on the edge of the couch, breathing hard. He nodded in response to Fornell's question.

"Here," Fornell said, and held out the cup. Gibbs took it and took a drink.

"Better?" he asked. Gibbs nodded. He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Wow," Gibbs said.

"It's normal," Fornell said. "It's gonna happen." He retook his own seat.

"Yeah," Gibbs said. He drank more smoothie, almost gulping it down. When it was empty, he reached over the now larger gap to set the cup on the table. He pulled the table back into place.

"Did I hit you?" he asked.

"No," Fornell said. He thought of a joke about being too fast, but let it go.

Gibbs nodded. He looked around and snagged his phone off the floor where it had fallen. He leaned back against the couch for a few minutes, letting the adrenalin fade, before dialing Abby. He explained there'd be an FBI courier coming with more evidence from the scene, told her to find what she could and add it to the DNA run. Abby heard his still-elevated breathing rate and asked about it. He brushed her off.

After he hung up, Gibbs closed his eyes, finding his focus. A block of time passed and he looked over at Fornell, who was still watching him.

"Do you think of yourself as gay?" Gibbs asked.

Fornell frowned at the non sequitur. "This is the conversation you want to have right now?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Something else you'd like to talk about?"

Fornell shook his head, partly in denial, and partly in exasperation. "I don't think of myself as gay, because I'm not. I'm bisexual. As in, attracted to both men and women."

"But you're turned on by men?" Gibbs asked.

"Aren't you?" Fornell shot back.

"Not normally," Gibbs said. "Pretty much just you."

Fornell looked at him incredulously. "Come on, Jethro, I know I wasn't your first."

"No," Gibbs granted. "There were others. In the Corps. But that was desperation, not attraction. When you don't think you're going to live to see another sunrise, you take comfort wherever you can find it."

Fornell had nothing to say to that. Though he understood situational affections between men in combat, he'd never served in the military and had not experienced it for himself.

A minute later, Gibbs spoke again. "What do you look for in a man?" he asked.

Fornell frowned at him. This was coming from so far out of left field, he was more than a little lost. "Why?" he finally asked.

Gibbs shrugged. "Just wondering."

Fornell thought for a second. "Same thing I look for in a woman, really: compatible personality, smart, sense of humor. Willingness to put up with me. Understanding what it means to be in a relationship with a cop." He paused, smiled. "Something worth looking at in the morning."

"It makes no difference to you, male or female?" Gibbs asked. Fornell took a couple breaths. There was something going on here, that much was certain. But damned if Fornell could figure out what.

"For the enjoyment of the relationship? Not really. Both have their pros and cons. It's easier, politically, to be with a woman. Sometimes appearances matter."

"So why not be with women all the time, if it's easier and it makes no difference?" Gibbs asked. Fornell cocked his head, examining him, trying to figure out what Gibbs was up to. Gibbs' face was impassive. Fornell wanted so badly not to make a wrong step, but he had no idea what this dance was about.

"You can't choose who you fall in love with, or when," Fornell said.

"Be good if you could," Gibbs said.

"Save some heartache," Fornell agreed.

"Save some money," Gibbs said, and Fornell chuckled. Gibbs had been saddled with alimony for two of his three ex-wives – at the same time – saved only when they each remarried. One of them had married Fornell, who later divorced her himself and paid her alimony for five years before he was able to escape.

"How many times you been in love?" Gibbs asked.

"More times than I should have been," Fornell said.

"More men? Or more women?"

"I don't know. Women, probably," Fornell said, then he shook his head. "What're you doing?"

"Making conversation," Gibbs said.

"You've never just 'made conversation' in your life," Fornell argued. "What's going on?"

Gibbs looked down at his hands, ran his fingers over the bandages on his wrists.

"Just wondering who else you might find worth looking at," Gibbs said.

And just like that, the light bulb went on.

"No way. We're not doing this," Fornell said. "You are the one I chose. You are the one I'm in love with. No one else."

"But why?" Gibbs asked, and when he looked up at Fornell this time, there was honest confusion on his face. "Why choose me? And why would you stay?"

"God, Jethro," Fornell said. He stood and moved over to the couch, taking a seat at the opposite end and turning to face Gibbs, one knee folded up. "There are only three really good things in my life: my daughter, my job, and you. You're the only one of those I can count on never to screw me over. Falling in love with you, after so many years, it's one of the best things that's ever happened to me." He paused. "What happened yesterday does not change that in any way. Not even a little."

"It should," Gibbs said.

"It won't," Fornell swore. "You and I are what we are because of everything that's happened until now. All the good, and all the bad too. Yesterday was bad. There's probably more bad ahead. Doesn't matter. We're in this together." He tentatively reached across the space between them to rest a hand on Gibbs' thigh.

Gibbs set his own hand atop Fornell's. He rested it there a minute before he spoke again.

"I'm really tired, Tobias."

"Why don't you lay down," Fornell suggested, and adjusted his position on the couch. Gibbs slid over and swung his feet up to lay on his side, his head in Fornell's lap.

"Rest," Fornell said softly when Gibbs was comfortable. Gibbs closed his eyes.

**NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

As anticipated, DiNozzo was released from the hospital just after lunch. Ducky drove him home. Tony shook off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor inside the front door. He dropped his keys on the entry table and was already standing at the lock box where he usually stored his gun on arrival home before he remembered he didn't have a gun at the moment. Which made him think about where it was, which made him remember why it wasn't with him, which made him stutter just a little.

He'd dreamed off and on through the night, vivid memories of the attack: The sight of Gibbs being raped, the sounds of the bastard enjoying it, his vile words both whispered and not, Gibbs gasping for breath and occasionally grunting in pain, but otherwise eerily silent. After a dozen or more reviews in his mind, the images no longer made him throw up, though they still sickened him. The feelings of guilt and shame, while reduced since talking with the counselor, had not left him. He just wanted to curl up in his bed and check out until the memories were gone. He doubted that would be possible, but he was sure as hell going to try. If he could be left alone long enough.

Problem was, he didn't think that was going to happen either. On the way home, Ducky'd told him McGee was coming over. When he'd tried to veto that, Ducky played the card that always worked: Gibbs' orders.

Tony had been prescribed some pretty heavy pain killers, which was nice. Moving from the hospital wheelchair to Ducky's car, and from the car to his apartment, caused more pain than the meds could handle, which wasn't nice. DiNozzo shuffled into his bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. He was breathing hard and sweating from the exertion, which only added to his depression. In his head, he knew he'd recover – sooner rather than later – but right now he felt like he might never be strong enough to work again.

He was still in the clothes he'd been wearing yesterday and desperately wanted a shower. He wasn't sure he could manage on his own just yet. With Ducky his only source of help, he decided to forego the shower and just get undressed. He didn't bother putting on fresh clothes, or even pajamas. He just lay down in his underwear, pulled the sheet up over himself, and tried to shut off his brain.

It didn't work, of course. He'd never been very good at that. By the time McGee showed up and Ducky took his leave, he was more awake than he'd been all morning. After blowing off McGee's expressions of sympathy over his injuries, and trying – but failing – to blow off his insistence that he do breathing exercises, he'd taken another dose of pain meds with a sleeping pill chaser. He knew the doctor intended him to take the sleeping pills at night, but he figured sleep was sleep. And sleep, uninterrupted by dreams, was what he wanted and needed. Maybe by the time he woke up, he'd have figured out a way to forget what happened. Or at least put it in his 'never to be dealt with if I live to be 100' box.

**NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

After DiNozzo fell asleep, McGee set up his laptop on the dining room table and began cataloging the documents the FBI had brought him. He wasn't expecting to find anything directly related to the loan shark operation – that would be too easy – but he was hoping to find something that would lead them somewhere.

As he worked, McGee's attention split as it often did. Half of his mind was working on the documents in front of him. The other half was trying to figure out what had happened yesterday. Last night, Gibbs had said Tony would be okay, but he sure as hell didn't look okay. Tony himself had been strangely quiet about the whole thing, which made McGee incredibly nervous. When Tony was injured on the job, his reaction was always an inverse of the severity of his wounds: The worse the wounds, the less he talked about them. Cuts and bruises got the big show, with Tony virtually begging for attention and sympathy. When he got the plague and almost died, he said nothing about it until he was well again, even coming back to work a week early. This time, McGee had even fed Tony several huge openings, inviting him to give him all the gory details. Tony had ignored them.

It also didn't make sense that yesterday Gibbs hadn't even mentioned being hurt, yet this morning, Fornell had come by to report Gibbs wouldn't be at work for a couple of days. Then Gibbs had denied it, saying he'd be in tomorrow. McGee had tried to get Tony to spill about Gibbs, but was ignored on that front as well. And what was up with Fornell getting copies of the case file? Obviously Gibbs hadn't asked for them. So what was Fornell up to?

One thing McGee knew for sure: He was going to find out for himself if Gibbs was alright. The boss had a tendency to ignore his own injuries and try to make others ignore them too. If Tony looked like that, Gibbs couldn't be in good shape. Not without the guy who'd done it taking up residence on one of Ducky's tables. Gibbs had to have been down, and probably down hard, for them to get that much of a piece of Tony.

More of McGee's attention moved away from the papers. How could he find out what had really happened? Tony wasn't talking. Ziva'd been with him all day yesterday and had been as surprised as McGee was to hear from Fornell this morning. He supposed he could ask Director Vance, but it wouldn't be his first choice, even if Vance would tell him. He didn't like the idea of Vance knowing they didn't know what had happened to their own team leader.

Ducky probably knew. As far as McGee knew, Gibbs hadn't seen any doctor other than Ducky in all the time McGee had worked for him. Other than emergency room doctors.

Which made McGee wonder how hard it would be to hack into the records system at Bethesda Medical Center. Assuming that's where Gibbs had gone.

On that thought, McGee gave up on the documents entirely. He stood and crossed to where Tony's jacket was lying across the back of an easy chair. Feeling only a small thread of guilt, he went through his partner's pockets. The discharge paperwork from the hospital was there. He unfolded it, surprised by two things: The paper was in the name of Anthony DeMarco, and it was from Washington Hospital Center. Why had they gone there? It was nowhere near the site of the building Gibbs and DiNozzo had been searching. Bethesda would have been closer. Unless they'd gone somewhere else after that? Gibbs being Gibbs, they might have done that without saying anything to anyone. On the other hand, the evidence had all come from the building they'd searched. Via the FBI. Which was bizarre all by itself. And why had Tony given a false name? None of this made any sense.

Maybe Abby knew something... The courier from the FBI had taken evidence down to her too. Maybe she had something he didn't.

McGee dialed Abby's lab. When there was no answer, he tried her cell. It was one ring away from voicemail when she picked up. Her usually cherry greeting was subdued.

"Where are you?" McGee asked.

"At home. Why?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. Why?" she said again.

"You sound... tired," McGee said, picking the least offensive of the things he was thinking. She also sounded sick, out of sorts, not all there...

"That's what happens when you stay up all night working," Abby said. "You woke me up."

"What were you working on?" McGee asked.

Abby's hesitation was long. "Uh... evidence," she said, and suddenly she was wide awake.

"What evidence?" McGee asked. "We haven't had anything in days. Not until this morning."

"Um... I was rechecking some evidence from the rape cases," Abby said.

"Abby, what's going on?" McGee said. She was so bad at lying. To her teammates, anyway.

"Nothing," Abby said.

"What happened to Tony and Gibbs yesterday?" McGee asked.

"They got hurt, at the building they were searching," Abby said promptly.

"How?" McGee asked.

"Bad guys got the drop on them. You know it happens sometimes," Abby said.

"No, I mean, how were they hurt? What kind of injuries does Gibbs have?"

Another hesitation, shorter this time. "Bruised up. A minor head injury. He got hit with some blood during the fight, so he's going to be taking antiretroviral medication for four weeks. That stuff's going to make him pretty sick, so he'll probably take time off."

McGee paused, thinking that through. "Was he knocked unconscious?"

"I don't think so," Abby said.

"If he just got knocked around a little, how did Tony get so hurt?" McGee asked. "Gibbs would have stopped it unless he wasn't able to."

"How should I know?" Abby said, sounding defensive. McGee waited, but she didn't say anything else.

"Well it doesn't make any sense. Did you know Tony used a fake name at the hospital last night?"

"So?" Abby said.

"So, it's weird, that's all. Why would he do that?"

"Why are you asking me?" she demanded. Her defensiveness was increasing with every question he asked. There was only one reason he could think of that she would be acting that way.

"Abby, what do you know about what happened yesterday that you're not telling me?"

"Nothing," Abby said quickly.

"You're lying," McGee said flatly. "Why?"

He could hear Abby breathing, but she said nothing for a long moment.

"I can't tell you, Tim. I'm sorry. Gibbs will tell you when he's ready."

"Is he alright?" McGee asked.

"He wasn't hurt badly," Abby said. "That's all I can tell you. He made me promise."

McGee relented. If Gibbs had told her not to tell, she would die before disobeying. "Where is he?" he asked.

"He's at home. He'll be at work tomorrow, he says."

"Okay."

"Tim, you need to leave him alone," Abby warned. "He's okay. Really."

"Okay," McGee said again.

"You're not going to, are you?" Abby asked, her voice subdued.

"I just need to know," McGee said. "I won't bother him."

Abby sighed. "He's not going to like it."

"I know," McGee said. "He can fire me later."

After he hung up, McGee debated his next move. He had work to do here, and someone needed to stay with Tony. He didn't want to wait until he was relieved at 7 p.m. to go check on Gibbs. That didn't leave him a lot of options. With a sigh, he called Ziva.

"I'm worried about him," he said, after quickly briefing her on what Abby had said, including the extent of Gibbs' injuries and the blood exposure that might keep him home.

"She said he was alright," Ziva summed up.

"No, she said he wasn't hurt badly. Which could mean anything. It could mean she's just repeating what he told her."

"What do you want to do?" Ziva asked.

"I want one of us to put eyes on him," McGee said.

"I do not think that is a good idea," Ziva said. "You know how private he is. He will probably be angry."

"I don't care," McGee said. "It's what he'd do for any one of us. He made sure Tony was covered. Why shouldn't he be covered too?"

"Agent Fornell said he was keeping an eye on him," Ziva reminded her partner.

"It's not the same. It has to be one of us."

Ziva seemed to consider that. "You are correct," she said finally. "It should be one of us. I will go."

McGee was surprised. "Are you sure? I can do it, if you come relieve me here."

"No, I will do it. He owes me one. If I have to, I will use my marker to make sure he does not hold a grudge."

"Thank you," McGee said. He was secretly thrilled he wasn't going to have to face Gibbs himself. "Call me after you talk to him."

* * *

To be continued.


	12. Chapter 12

**Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 12**

**by HidingInSight**

* * *

Gibbs and Fornell spent most of the day on the couch. The instability in Gibbs' stomach worsened as the day went on. Fornell had warmed up leftover soup for lunch, trying to get Gibbs to eat despite his continued protests that he wasn't hungry. Gibbs had sipped only a few mouths full from a mug before handing it back. Nothing Fornell said had convinced him to continue eating.

By mid-afternoon, Gibbs was again dozing with his head in Fornell's lap. Fornell had the television turned to ZNN, the volume muted, captions running across the bottom of the screen. Gibbs had installed cable shortly after he'd created a bedroom for Fornell, and it had been done just as quietly. Fornell had arrived one night after work to find Gibbs watching a report on a case they'd broken earlier that day. When Fornell had asked, Gibbs had just said it was time.

Fornell was alternating between watching the silent TV and catching up on his magazine reading, all the while gently stroking Gibbs' hair and massaging his scalp. Gibbs' sleep was light and fitful. He would often murmur and make small sounds of distress or struggle against unseen enemies, soothed only by Fornell's whispered words of reassurance and calm.

The FBI man was frankly concerned about the prospects of either of them getting any sleep tonight. If this was how Gibbs was in the daylight, how bad were the nightmares going to be in the dark? Maybe he could convince Gibbs to take a sleeping pill.

A confident knock on the door came just past 3 p.m., startling Gibbs awake. Fornell looked back over his shoulder out the front window. No one was parked there.

"Who is it?" Gibbs asked. He cleared his throat and stretched.

"Don't know. No car out front."

"Solicitor," Gibbs said, settling back. "Ignore them. They'll go away."

A moment later, the doorknob rattled, then the knock came again, with a voice. "Gibbs?"

"It's Ziva," Gibbs said, and sat up. He wove his fingers through his hair and rubbed at his head. "What part of leave me alone are they missing?"

"Told you it wouldn't work," Fornell said. "Want me to get it?"

"I'll get it," Gibbs said, and pushed to his feet. He swayed for a second, nausea and dizziness rising. Fornell grabbed him as he took a stagger-step sideways. After a second, Gibbs nodded and Fornell let him go.

Fornell clicked off the television as Gibbs flipped the deadbolt back and dragged the door open.

"Ziva," Gibbs said. She looked him up and down, her eyes stopping briefly on each of his injuries before returning to his face. Her expression was neutral.

"May I come in?" she asked. Gibbs stepped back and gestured her through.

Ziva entered the living room and saw Fornell, who was again seated on the couch.

"Good afternoon, Agent Fornell," she said.

"Agent David," Fornell said with a nod.

"What are you doing here?" Gibbs asked.

"You were not at work today. McGee and I were concerned," Ziva replied.

"Of course you were," Fornell said.

"I'm fine," Gibbs said. She appraised him. He let her. After a minute, her eyes narrowed and she frowned slightly. Still standing in the living room, she turned to Fornell.

"Would you mind excusing us?" she asked Fornell. "I would like to speak to Gibbs alone."

In response to Fornell's questioning look, Gibbs nodded his acceptance. Whatever she had to say to him, he could handle it alone.

"I'll be outside," Fornell said. He left through the kitchen, snagging something from the pile of papers the hospital have given them as he passed the table. They heard the back door open and close as Fornell headed for the backyard and presumably, the patio chairs.

"Have a seat," Gibbs invited, moving them to the dining room table. "You want coffee?"

"No thank you," Ziva said. Gibbs pulled a mug for himself and carefully sat at the table, managing not to flinch. He shoved the medication bottles to the end of the table away from them, trying to be casual about it.

Ziva took the chair across from him. He stared at her, waiting. She stared back. Gibbs held her gaze until it became uncomfortable and for the first time in a long time, he blinked first and looked away. When he looked back, there was something like sadness on Ziva's face.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he repeated and sipped at his cup.

"You do not look fine," she said.

"It's nothing," Gibbs insisted. He was doing his best to put off waves of 'leave it alone,' but he could tell he was not succeeding.

"It does not look like nothing," Ziva said. Her voice was something between chastising and sympathetic.

"What do you want from me?" Gibbs asked bluntly.

Ziva smiled slightly. "I only want to help."

"I don't need help," Gibbs said. She shook her head and returned to staring at him. He tried to hold her gaze, but there was something there that made him very uncomfortable. It felt like she was looking far more deeply into him than she should be able to. He really wanted her to go away. He supposed he could just order her to leave. He sensed she had something more to say, though, and was hesitant to kick her out just yet. Besides, in his current condition, he wasn't at all sure she'd follow the order. He didn't need that on top of everything else.

Finally, she spoke again.

"For many months after I returned from Somalia, I saw something I did not like when I looked in the mirror. Something in my eyes I could not get rid of, no matter how hard I tried."

Gibbs nodded. He'd seen it too. He drank more coffee.

Ziva had never discussed what had happened to her during the months she was held prisoner before they rescued her. They had all tried to get her to talk about it. Even Gibbs had made it clear he was available to listen if she wanted to talk, but she had always declined. They all assumed – considering the condition they found her in – that she'd been abused, maybe tortured. Probably raped. Probably more than once. She'd passed a psych exam prior to becoming an NCIS agent many months later but as far as Gibbs knew, she'd never sought counseling or gotten any professional help. It had concerned him at first. As the months passed and she continued to perform her duties with few hints that anything had ever happened, he'd figured she was dealing with whatever had happened in a way that worked for her. It was all he could expect as her team leader. He'd hoped for more as her friend.

Gibbs knew whatever had happened to Ziva had haunted her. In moments when she thought no one was watching, he'd sometimes catch her lost in thought, with an expression of anxiety on her face that was hard to reconcile with her normal fearlessness. He'd always turned away, knowing she would not have wanted him to notice.

Ziva continued quietly. "That something, whatever it was. I see the same thing in your eyes now."

Gibbs recoiled, pushing back in his chair. That wasn't possible. No way she could tell what had happened by just looking. Could she?

"Meaning what?" Gibbs asked gruffly, looking back at her.

Ziva cocked her head, shook it slightly.

"Yesterday, you and Tony found the man who raped Lt. Carter," she said. It wasn't a question. He didn't answer.

"And somehow he got to you," she said. She paused, waiting for some response. Some explanation. He gave her the only one he had.

"We weren't expecting anyone to be there. There were three of them." Gibbs paused, sighed a little. "We got complacent."

Ziva nodded. "That happens sometimes," she said. "Especially when you work as many hours as we do. It is virtually inevitable. It is nothing to be ashamed of."

Gibbs shook his head, dismissing her attempts at soothing him. It was the same argument he'd used with Abby, but somehow it didn't sound as reasonable coming the other way.

"I screwed up," he said. Ziva nodded and shrugged at the same time, not agreeing, just acknowledging his opinion.

"Sometimes we all make mistakes. Even you."

"They got Tony, before I even knew he was in trouble," Gibbs said.

"Then they got you," she said.

Gibbs nodded. "Yeah," he said. He was having trouble meeting her eye, looking instead somewhere around her cheeks.

"You were tied up," she said. Gibbs nodded. He looked down at the wraps on his wrists, fingering the right one with his left hand.

"You did everything you could to help Tony," Ziva said.

"How do you know?" Gibbs demanded, his voice hardening. Ziva flinched, but smiled.

"Because I know you. If there had been anything you could have done to prevent his injuries, you would have."

And he had done everything he could, Gibbs knew.

"I know some of what you are feeling," Ziva continued when she saw he wasn't going to. "I know it is not easy, getting through a thing like this. It helps to have friends who do not ask questions you do not wish to answer."

Gibbs nodded, still looking at his wrists. They hadn't asked her, not once. They'd only encouraged her to talk, and stood by her when she didn't.

Ziva snaked a hand across the table and tapped one finger against his forearm. He looked up. "It will help if you can find someone to talk to." She held up a hand when he began shaking his head. "It is especially important for people like us who do not like to talk. Whether you want them or not, you do have feelings about this, and you will have to deal with them. This kind of thing is not something you can just ignore. Trying will only make it worse. I know."

Gibbs looked at her, looked away. "I'll be fine," he said. "Leave it alone."

"I know you will be fine," Ziva agreed, ignoring his objection. "But it will take time. It will take longer if you do not seek help. None of us is equipped to deal with this alone. No matter how intense our training."

As a young Marine preparing for duty overseas, Gibbs had gone through SERE training: Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape. It was designed to teach Marines who'd been separated from their units the skills they needed to get back home. As part of the 'resistance' portion, they'd heard horror stories of what prisoners of war were forced to endure. Interrogation, torture, starvation, degradations of all forms, including rape. They'd heard from former residents of the Hanoi Hilton who'd survived months or years in captivity and were warned of the long-lasting effects of such mistreatment on body and mind. This was years before post-traumatic stress became an accepted and understood consequence of war, and many of the young jarheads in the class had been convinced they'd never have to deal with it. In the years since, Gibbs had learned enough – and matured enough – to know the truth.

Ziva was a generation younger than he, but she'd been trained by Mosaad. The Israeli intelligence agency took their training very seriously, and he had no doubt she had undergone experiences similar to his own. Maybe he could use that to turn the focus of the conversation.

"What about you?" he asked. "I don't remember you spilling your guts about what happened."

"I did not think I needed help. I thought I could handle it myself. I was wrong." She held his eye for a moment. "I was wrong," she repeated. "There were... nightmares... that went on for many weeks. I had trouble sleeping and I was afraid it was affecting my performance. Finally I spoke to a counselor."

"It helped?" he asked.

"Very much," Ziva said. "It gave me... perspective... that I had not had before. Things were better after that."

Gibbs nodded. "I'm glad."

Ziva smiled again. "I believe you will not make peace with this on your own. You will need someone to talk to."

"I'll think about it," Gibbs said.

"Good," she said.

"What will you tell McGee?" Gibbs asked. Ziva looked at him for another long moment, then nodded. He was clearly finished discussing it. She had done all she could.

"His concern was that given the extent of Tony's injuries, you must have also been injured," she said. "He could not imagine any situation that would have seen Tony so badly injured that did not result in equally serious injuries to you. I will tell him you were incapacitated, tied up, and unable to help. That you did everything you could, but you could not stop what happened to him."

Gibbs nodded.

"I will tell him your injuries are not severe," she added. "That the exposure medications will keep you off work for a few days. That his concerns were valid, but you will be alright."

Gibbs nodded again. That would do.

"Anything more is no one's business but yours," Ziva added.

"Thank you, Ziver," Gibbs said sincerely, and she smiled. She stood and Gibbs stood with her, not quite able to keep the expression of pain from his face. She noticed.

"You were seen by a doctor?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Good. Take the time you need to heal. If you don't take it now, it will only require you take more time later."

"I'll keep that in mind," Gibbs said. Ziva nodded one more time and left.

Gibbs went into the kitchen and used the last of his coffee to rinse his mouth, spitting into the sink. The taste of the bastard had returned. He refused to go brush his teeth again. He refilled his mug, grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge, and stepped outside through the kitchen door. He heard Ziva's car start up a few houses down.

Rounding the house, he found Fornell stretched out on a lounge chair, his feet up. Gibbs held out the bottle out to him.

"Thanks," Fornell said. Gibbs nodded. He picked a cushion out of the deck box, dropped it on the other lounge chair a few feet from Fornell's and carefully sat down. For several minutes, the men sat and stared out across the back lawn.

"She knows," Gibbs finally said, for the second time that day.

"Knows what?" Fornell asked.

"Yesterday," Gibbs said. He drank coffee.

"Who told her?" Fornell asked.

"No one. She saw it in my eyes."

Fornell turned to look at him, frowning. The expression on Gibbs' face was far from his usual stoicism, but there was nothing that screamed 'I've been sexually assaulted.'

"Really?" Fornell said. "Of all the things that could be wrong with you, she just picked out that?"

"There's apparently a look she recognized from seeing it on her own face."

Fornell considered that. "Somalia?" he asked.

"Uh huh," Gibbs agreed. Fornell nodded, drank some beer.

"She ever tell you about it?" Fornell asked.

"No. Never told any of us, far as I know." Gibbs took a mouthful of coffee. "After a while she started seeing a counselor. Said it helped."

"Oh?" Fornell said.

"Yeah," Gibbs said.

"This thing says that, too," he said, and held up the booklet the nurse had given them. He'd spent the time while exiled to the yard reading through it. "Says we should both go. Separately, and together."

Gibbs nodded. He'd told Ziva he'd think about it, and he would. Just not right now.

"Also says DiNozzo's gonna need to see someone," Fornell added.

"He will," Gibbs said.

"How can you be sure?" Fornell asked.

"He won't have a choice," Gibbs said.

Fornell chose not to point out the hypocrisy in that. For his part, he'd be finding a counselor as soon as he was sure Gibbs would be alright on his own for a few hours. He had no problem seeking mental health help when it was needed. Never had. Jethro Gibbs, though, was another story. Tobias didn't know if it was because talking to someone had led to a bad experience, or if Jethro was just opposed to sharing his feelings on principle.

"You're going to have to tell McGee," Fornell said instead. "As soon as possible."

"Why?" Gibbs asked.

"Because now he's the only one on your team who doesn't know. He's gonna feel pretty lousy when he finds out he was the last to know, and the longer you wait, the worse he's going to feel. You know how kids are."

"He's not a kid," Gibbs objected.

"He's your kid," Fornell said. "They all are. Whether you're willing to admit it or not, they see you as father of their little family and they all want to think they're important to you."

Gibbs gave him a look that said 'yeah right.' Fornell frowned at him.

"You really have no idea, do you?"

"What?" Gibbs asked.

"How much you mean to them," Fornell said. "Any one of them would die for you, no questions asked."

"They're loyal," Gibbs acknowledged.

"It's more than loyalty, Jethro. They love you. Especially DiNozzo. You're right when you said this thing might kill him. He wasn't just a witness. He's gonna think he let it happen. That he let you get raped."

The word no longer had the impact it had 24 hours before, but hearing it was still uncomfortable. "He didn't. It was my choice," Gibbs said.

"Yes, it was," Fornell said. "And I'm not sure we're done talking about that. But just you telling him that isn't going to take care of it this time. You can't order him not to feel guilty. Just like you can't order McGee not to feel left out because you didn't tell him."

Gibbs drank some coffee, considering that. Finally, he sighed.

"I'll tell him tomorrow," he said.

"Good," Fornell said. He sipped at his beer. It was a pleasant day, really. Warm but not hot, a slight breeze rustling the branches on the trees surrounding Gibbs' yard and pushing the neighbor's tuned wind chime just enough to make a soft melody. It was early enough in the summer that the temperature fell rapidly after dark, but dark was still hours away.

"How're you feeling?" Fornell asked after a minute.

"Unstable," Gibbs said. "Tired."

"Nurse said that would happen," Fornell reminded him.

Gibbs nodded. He drained his mug and set it on the deck beside the chair. He reached for the lever and lowered the back of the chair to almost flat then shuffled downwards to change the point of pressure from his butt to his hips. Sitting on the dining room chair to talk to Ziva had not been a good idea. It was probably time for another pain pill.

"If I find us a counselor, will you go?" Fornell asked, circling the conversation back.

"Not now, Tobias," Gibbs said.

"Fine," Fornell said with a sigh. He tipped his beer bottle upright, swallowing the last of it before setting the bottle on the deck.

A minute later, Gibbs reached across the space between them and took Fornell's hand. What Gibbs didn't say in words, he often said in actions. Now he was saying 'I need you' and 'I'm glad you're here.' Maybe even 'I love you.' Fornell squeezed his hand.

* * *

To be continued


	13. Chapter 13

**Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 13**

**by HidingInSight**

* * *

They spent the evening as they'd spent the day: Casually keeping company, not doing much of anything, just 'hanging out' as the teenagers would say. Fornell had bought meal replacement shakes and at dinner time Gibbs reluctantly tried one in chocolate, finding it to be not repulsive. He'd managed to squelch the urge to brush his teeth for the most part, only giving in once.

A check-in with Ziva found Tony to be grumpy with the continued presence of his babysitter, but resting mostly comfortably with pharmaceutical support. McGee had taken the evidence home and hoped to have it all cataloged by morning.

Drowsiness brought on by lack of activity, the effects of the medications, his lingering pains and his increasingly unstable stomach had Gibbs heading for bed hours earlier than he normally would. He'd showered and brushed his teeth again before laying out on his stomach.

Fornell joined him soon after he laid down. He sat on the bed leaning against the headboard to read the file McGee had given him, one hand resting on Gibbs' back. He was about halfway through the file when Gibbs spoke.

"Why are you reading my case file?" he asked. Fornell looked over at him. He thought his bedmate had fallen asleep long before.

"Getting up to speed," he said.

"Why?" Gibbs asked again.

"So I can help with the case."

Gibbs thought about that. "Help?" he asked. "You think we need help?"

"No. It looks like you're doing everything you can be doing." When Gibbs narrowed his eyes and continued to stare at him, Fornell continued. "Your team's going to be short-handed for the next little while. I can help. I want this guy off the streets, now."

"That's all, you just want to help my people get him off the streets," Gibbs asked.

"That's not the only reason," Fornell admitted.

Gibbs looked at him, waiting.

"What do you want me to say, Jethro?" Fornell asked. "You want me to say I want to kill him? That if I'm the one to find him, he's going to resist arrest, maybe fatally?"

"Tobias..." Gibbs said.

"He hurt you," Fornell said. "No one gets to hurt my family and walk."

Fornell said it with such certainty that Gibbs had to smile. He raised a hand to rest it on Fornell's thigh through the blanket. "Be careful," Gibbs said. "And take Ziva and McGee with you. I don't want you going after him alone."

"I won't," Fornell said.

Gibbs nodded and moved his hand, reaching for Fornell's. They held on to one another until Fornell finished his reading and Gibbs finally did fall asleep.

**E*E*E*E*E**

The first nightmare came before midnight. Gibbs began fussing in his sleep, which turned into twitching and occasional vocalizations. Fornell rubbed his back and called his name softly, trying to wake him gently. When that didn't work, he got louder. Gibbs finally came awake with a cry and bolted out of bed. He didn't get as far as the gun this time before realizing what was happening and dropping back onto the bed.

Two hours later, the pattern repeated. This time, Fornell convinced Gibbs to take a sleeping pill. He was here, it would be okay.

The pill did its thing, and it was a quiet rest of the night. They were still sleeping when Fornell's cell phone alarm went off at seven the next morning. Fornell woke immediately. He shut off the alarm then rolled out of bed and moved to the bathroom. Gibbs was groggy and had trouble waking up. He sat on the edge of the bed and waited for Fornell to emerge before replacing him in the bathroom.

Fornell brought him a handful of pills and Gibbs swallowed them without comment. He followed that with a shower before using the douche, then laid out on the bed so Fornell could apply the cream. Figuring he'd spend most of the day doing paperwork, Gibbs dressed casually in a long-sleeved Henley shirt and decided to forgo a sport coat in favor of a jacket.

By the time he was standing in front of the mirror to shave, Gibbs felt about half normal. The headache was still lingering lightly, his neck was sore to the touch, his low back ached, and his butt was still on the tolerable side of severely painful. On that thought, he set his shaver down and took a max dose of Vicodin. He was going to need it to face the day ahead.

When he finished shaving, Gibbs examined the abrasions on his wrist. The left side had completely closed, but there was still enough open skin on the right wrist to require cream and a wrap. He gathered the treatment supplies and carried them with him as he descended the stairs.

Fornell waiting for Gibbs at the table when he appeared. He had also showered and dressed and was ready for a work day. Gibbs put the supplies on the table and went to the kitchen to pour himself a mug of coffee.

"What's that?" Gibbs asked, seeing a lunch-sized paper bag with Abby's distinctive signature on it sitting on the table. He sipped some coffee. Fornell looked around the morning paper at him.

"Present from Abby. She left it on the porch sometime last night or this morning."

"What is it?" Gibbs asked. He frowned at the coffee. It was landing badly on his stomach.

Fornell shrugged. "Don't know. Didn't open it."

Gibbs put his coffee down and opened the bag. A small glass bottle with a black top, about an ounce in size, and a note. It looked like makeup. He set the bottle on the table and unfolded the note. It was written in black marker on printer paper. By holding it at arm's length and squinting a little, he read it without his glasses.

"It's tattoo cover up," Gibbs said.

"For what?" Fornell asked. Unlike many Marines, Gibbs was tattoo-less.

"My neck. And wrists, once the skin is closed."

Fornell smiled. "She's a good girl," he said.

"Yes, she is," he said. He opened the bottle and put his finger over the top, turning it over so a small amount came out on his fingertip. He sniffed it. No scent. He rubbed it on the back of his other hand. The liquid was about the same color as his own skin tone and even as he was rubbing it, it was already drying and disappearing into his skin.

"Worth a try," Gibbs said. He left his coffee where it sat and went to the downstairs bath. The instructions in the note said to apply lightly and blend at the edges – whatever that meant – and to not put his shirt on until it dried completely.

Gibbs carefully stripped off the shirt he had just put on. He poured a little of the makeup onto his left palm and used his right index finger to rub it gently over the bruises. After a few swipes, he understood what Abby had meant by 'blending' the edges. It took a minute to get the hang of how thickly it needed to be applied, but before too long, his neck looked like nothing had happened. Gibbs considered and rejected doing the same with his left wrist. He'd decided not to put his watch on so it wouldn't irritate the newly scabbed-over scrapes. He wasn't sure rubbing make-up onto the scabs wouldn't do the same.

The cover-up dried quickly and Gibbs redressed, returning to the dining room. Fornell looked up at him and nodded. "It looks good," he said.

"Good," Gibbs said. He picked up his coffee and took another sip. It didn't go down any easier, and he set the cup aside. He sat down at the table and pulled over the bandaging supplies. Fornell put down his paper and took care of it.

"What are you doing today?" Gibbs asked when he was done.

"Going with you," Fornell said. "I'm off for a couple days."

As if on cue, Fornell's phone rang. He picked it up and smiled at the caller ID.

"Hello, Princess. How are you this morning?" Fornell asked. By that, Gibbs knew it was Fornell's daughter Emily calling. There was a long pause while Fornell listened to the girl talk, followed by an expression on Fornell's face that showed he'd screwed up.

"Of course I remembered," Fornell said when she took a breath. "I'll be there to pick you up at 11:45."

Another pause. "Of course. It is okay if I bring Gibbs along?" A squeal Gibbs heard through the phone. "Okay. I'll tell him. I'll see you then. Love you." Fornell clicked off.

"What'd you forget?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm taking Emily to lunch today," Fornell said. "Daddy daughter date day. You're coming."

"Why?" Gibbs asked. Not that he minded: Emily was his unofficial Goddaughter, and he loved her to death. But he wondered why she'd agree to have him along on a Daddy date.

"Because I'm not leaving you alone today," Fornell said. "And you know she thinks of you as her other Daddy. She wants you to come."

Gibbs nodded. It might be fun. It would certainly have been fun any other day. He glanced at the clock on the microwave: Almost 8:00. Three and a half hours ought to be enough time to get what he needed done at the Navy Yard. He thought he could probably last that long.

"You sure you're up to going in?" Fornell asked. He stood and started folding the sections of the paper back together.

"I need to," Gibbs said. "There's things I need to take care of before the worst of these side effects kicks in."

"Okay," Fornell said. "You want breakfast?"

"No," Gibbs said. He hadn't eaten anything since dinner last night and his stomach had been relatively stable until the coffee hit. He wasn't so sure that had been a great idea. He didn't want to compound the error now.

"Alright. If you're ready, let's go," Fornell said. "I'm driving." Gibbs nodded. He dumped the remains of his coffee down the sink and rinsed the mug.

On the way in, Fornell went through the coffee shop drive thru. He offered to get Gibbs' coffee and was surprised – and concerned – when Gibbs declined. Gibbs had never, in all the years he'd known him, turned down a free cup of good coffee.

Ziva was sitting at her desk when they arrived in the squad room. She looked up, surprised to see Gibbs. They noticed her notice the lack of visible bruising on his neck.

"McGee with DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes. He says he will be finished cataloging the documents by noon."

"You get any sleep last night?" Gibbs asked. He circled around behind his desk, leaning over to turn on his computer. He didn't sit.

"Yes. Tony's couch is quite comfortable."

"How's he doing?" Gibbs asked.

"He slept through most of the day and night. I ensured he worked with the incentive spirometer whenever he was awake."

"He taking medications?" Gibbs asked. His email beeped, and he pulled a pair of glasses out of his desk drawer to read the sender names.

"Yes. He has antibiotics, pain medication and a sleep aid. He took one yesterday afternoon before I arrived, and another late in the evening."

"Two sleeping pills in one day?" Gibbs asked, looking up at her.

"McGee has custody of the bottle, and will not allow him to use any more until this evening," Ziva supplied. Gibbs nodded and returned to his email. He'd talk to Tony about that when he saw him.

After determining there was nothing important in his email, Gibbs straightened up. "What are you doing today?" he asked.

"McGee created a list of names from his inventory of the documents. I will be running the names and numbers to try and locate the individuals he has identified and determine if they are related in any way to our case."

Gibbs nodded his acceptance of that. "Paper chase only. No one moves without my authorization."

"I understand," Ziva said. Gibbs clicked off the monitor he'd turned on and rejoined Fornell in the aisle.

"I'll be available by phone all day. Call me if something comes up," he said.

They rode down to Abby's lab. She was in, her music present but subdued. She was sitting at the desk in her office, working on her computer.

"Abby," Gibbs called as he entered the lab.

"Gibbs!" she cried and jumped up. She rushed over to him and he braced himself for one of her crushing hugs. Instead, she stopped in front of him and gently wrapped her arms around him with the barest of squeezes.

"How are you feeling?" she asked when she withdrew.

"So far so good," Gibbs said. He didn't think it necessary to tell her about the instability that was returning to his stomach.

"That looks really good," Abby said, brushing a finger gently along his neck.

"It does," Gibbs agreed. "Thank you."

"Anytime," she said with a smile. "How was your night, Mr. G-Man?" she asked Fornell.

"Long," Fornell said.

"I bet," Abby said. She stepped back from them. "I know what you're here for, and I've got nothing back yet," she said. "The DNA from the new evidence I got from the FBI was all mixed up, so I didn't run it." She stared at Gibbs, and he understood. The DNA had been partially his, partially his attacker's, and she hadn't wanted the techs at CODIS to separate it out and identify him.

"Otherwise, there's nothing new," she said. "I retroactively put a rush on it, but I don't know if it's gonna work or not. I'll let you know when I get something."

"Thank you," Gibbs said. He headed out. Abby watched him go, a forlorn look on her face. He hadn't kissed her as he always did, and she'd noticed.

Their next stop was Autopsy. Gibbs knew from previous experience that he would need a doctor's exam to confirm his work status before Navy Medical would sign off on the injuries he'd sustained. Gibbs had always gotten that clearance from Ducky, and there was no reason this time should be different. He knew he wasn't ready to return to work, but someone with an MD after their name was going to have to make an official decision as to how long he was to be off.

Ducky was alone in autopsy when they arrived, and he immediately had Gibbs lean back against one of the tables so he could take his vital signs. Gibbs would have rather just had Ducky hand him the form he was pretty sure Ducky had already filled out, but he put up with the exam, knowing the older man's heart was in the right place. Finding his vitals slightly abnormal for him but still within the range of normal for his age and condition, Ducky ran him through a few tests for brain injury. He had Gibbs follow his fingers with his eyes, checked his pupil response, and felt at his skull for swelling. All was normal. Gibbs answered all of Ducky's questions – some of them once again far more personal than he'd ordinarily have allowed – and was relieved when Ducky finally pronounced him well enough. The ME produced the required form, added a note, and signed it.

A trip to the armory was next, where Gibbs' new sidearm was waiting for him. He stood at the counter and filled out a stack of forms a quarter inch thick, each one wanting him to explain over and over what had happened to the one he'd previously been issued. On the sixth form, Gibbs wondered if it wouldn't be easier to just go buy himself a new one. Not that that would satisfy the Navy, but still. After half an hour, he was again armed and feeling much more comfortable. There was something about walking around in public without a weapon that always put him on edge. Maybe it was the job he did, maybe it was just that he'd been carrying one for more years than he could remember. Whatever the reason, he always felt half-dressed without the weight of the Sig on his hip. He made a mental note to get to the range as soon as possible. Even though it was the same model he'd been using for years, all firearms were different. He'd have to shoot off a few clips to get comfortable with it. Maybe after lunch?

With Fornell still trailing along and not saying much, Gibbs walked across the Yard to the onboard medical clinic. It was a large facility whose primary function was deployment readiness: Every sailor or Marine in the Northeast who was headed overseas had to stop here first. That made it very busy on a slow day. The good news was it also had an urgent care for those who made their living on the Navy Yard. Gibbs was able to bypass the hundred or so men and women sitting in the waiting room and present himself directly to the triage counter. He was again handed a stack of forms and asked to sit down and fill them out. He declined to sit, instead finding a spot in a corner to lean. The Vicodin had done a good job holding back the pain, but it was starting to creep back.

Ten minutes after the forms were returned to the counter, Gibbs was called back. At Gibbs' instruction, Fornell took a seat to wait.

Gibbs was shown to an exam room where a nurse had him sit on the exam table. He focused hard on keeping the pain of sitting on the hard table off his face. The nurse took his forms and his vitals and left him alone. He slid off the table to lean against it while he waited.

The door opened after another ten minutes. Gibbs looked up to see a face he recognized.

"Special Agent Gibbs, it's good to see you again," the young man said.

"Gerald," Gibbs said and offered a hand. "How've you been?"

Gerald Jackson had been Ducky's assistant years before. He went on disability after he was shot during a hostage taking in Autopsy, the same incident that had earned Gibbs the scar on his shoulder that Abby had recognized. Though Gerald had recovered from his wounds, he had not returned to NCIS. Gibbs hadn't known what had happened to him.

"Doing really well," Gerald said. "Got my PA license. I've been working here a year or so."

"Good for you," Gibbs said.

"So what happened to you?" Gerald asked.

"Suspect got the best of me," Gibbs said lightly. "We got into a fight, there was an exposure. The hospital started me on antiretrovirals."

Gerald scanned over the papers Gibbs had filled out.

"This happened when?"

"Tuesday," Gibbs said.

"You have a skull fracture?" Gerald asked.

"Ducky says it's not serious," Gibbs said.

Gerald nodded, accepting that. "Any symptoms since you were released?"

"Mild headache," Gibbs said. "That's all."

"Dizziness? Nausea or vomiting?"

"Some nausea, but it's the medication."

Gerald nodded. "Probably." He flipped over to the form Ducky had filled out and read it through.

"What was the nature of the exposure?" Gerald asked without looking up from the papers.

"I had an open wound. He bled on me," Gibbs said.

"What kind of wound?" Gerald asked. Gibbs was silent long enough that Gerald finally looked up.

"Ducky already took care of the exam," Gibbs said firmly. "I'm only here to get the paperwork filled out."

Gerald considered him. He knew Gibbs pretty well. If the man was hiding something, he wasn't doing it just for the hell of it; there was a good reason.

"Mind if I call Ducky?" he asked.

"No," Gibbs said. Ducky was far better at medical obfuscation than Gibbs. He'd make sure Gerald got what he needed without breaking confidence. At least Gibbs hoped he would...

* * *

To be continued


	14. Chapter 14

**Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 14**

**by HidingInSight**

* * *

"I've got another form I need you to fill out about occupational blood exposure," Gerald said, and picked a form off his stack of paperwork. "We usually go over it step by step with patients, but I think I can trust you to read it through and be honest, can't I?"

"You can," Gibbs said. Gerald handed him the form, and handed him a pen out of a cup on the counter.

"I'll be back."

Gibbs put on his glasses and turned to use the exam table as a writing surface. The space for biographical information had been covered with a sticker containing a barcode. Underneath it was a lengthy disclaimer about privacy rights that basically said the document and all records related to potential exposure to HIV were fully confidential and wouldn't be shared with anyone, including command staff or other physicians whether personal or military. Okay, Gibbs thought. He started reading the questions.

In the twelve months prior to the date of the exposure did you have: a blood transfusion, an organ transplant, a skin or bone graft, an accidental needle stick, sexual contact with anyone who has HIV/AIDS or had a positive test for HIV/AIDS, sexual contact with a prostitute or any person who has accepted money, drugs or other payment in exchange for sex, sexual contact with an IV drug user, sexual contact with anyone who uses needles to take steroids, sexual contact with anyone with hemophilia, sexual contact that resulted in open wound to you or your partner, a tattoo or piercing, a stay in jail or prison lasting more than 72 hours. Gibbs ran down the 'no' column, making x's.

Next section: Since 1977, have you received money, drugs or other payment for sex? Had sexual contact with another male, even once?

Gibbs paused over that one. 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' was no longer the law, but the Navy still wasn't asking. Obviously, this form didn't count and the disclaimer about privacy seemed to bear that out. Which meant it was probably safe to check 'yes.' On the other hand, he didn't want this to be the way he came out to his employer. Still, he wasn't sure that gay could be assumed from 'having sexual contact with another male even once.' There were a lot of guys who experimented who weren't gay. He checked the 'yes' box. If this was the way it came out, so be it. Honesty was usually the best policy.

The final section: Have you ever had a positive test for HIV/AIDS, used needles to take drugs, steroids or anything not prescribed by your doctor, had sexual contact with any animal... Gibbs' eyes widened. Really? ...had sexual contact with anyone who was born in or lived in Africa, travelled to Africa. Thinking of their mission to Somalia, he checked 'yes' for that last one, 'no' on the others.

Putting his glasses away, Gibbs turned to again lean against the table. Along with the creeping pain, his headache was beginning to intensify. He closed his eyes and focused on the source of the pain. Temples, mostly. So side effects, not fracture site. Good.

The door opened and Gerald returned. "Okay. You're good to go," he said.

"That's it?" Gibbs asked, surprised.

"Ducky says you're good, and we all know you're not malingering to get a little time off work," Gerald said. "You're off until further notice, with a follow-up with Dr. Mallard in 10 days, or prior to returning to full duties, whichever comes first."

"Thank you," Gibbs said. He handed over the completed form. "What's that for?"

"If, God forbid, you develop HIV and need to make a Workers' Compensation claim for future benefits, the Navy will need to rule out the possibility that you got it from somewhere other than an on-the-job exposure. It'll only come into play if you pop positive on a future test." He stuck the paper into a chart folder without looking at it.

"Nice seeing you," he said, and showed Gibbs out.

***N*C*I*S***

Lunch with Emily did not go well. She was a sweet kid, full of life and loving every minute of it, which usually made her really fun to be around. Though no one had ever told her about Gibbs' lost daughter, she seemed to sense the trace of sorrow that inevitably appeared in him when they were together and she was always gentle with him. When it was the three of them, she always made sure to focus her attention equally on Gibbs and Fornell so neither felt left out. Sometimes Gibbs felt he was intruding on Fornell's 'Daddy' moments when they were together. Even though both father and daughter denied it, that made him sad, too.

Today, Gibbs' rising pain and the emotional weight holding down both men made the atmosphere tense. Always perceptive Emily immediately noticed something was off. As lunch was served, she tried to lighten things up. She was bouncing a little more and talking a little louder than normal. She kept trying to engage him in conversation. Gibbs kept brushing her off. Fornell tried to intervene, but Emily saw her 'other daddy' was hurting, and she really wanted to make it better.

After twenty-five minutes of that, Gibbs' patience was reaching its limit. He loved the girl, but he really wasn't in the mood. He had ordered only a milkshake and he hunched over it, leaning forward on his elbows to shift the weight off his backside and onto his thighs. He was putting off his best 'back off' vibes, but either Emily didn't get it, thought it wasn't directed at her, or his best was really bad right now.

On Emily's tenth attempt to draw him out, Gibbs finally snapped.

"Leave me alone," he said sharply. Emily visibly recoiled, her eyes widening.

"Jethro," Fornell said reproachfully. Gibbs pressed the heels of his hands hard against his temples. He took a deep breath and glanced back up at Emily. There were fat tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Jeff," she said. Her voice was hesitant. She called him that, sometimes. Mostly when she wanted to be close. When she was very small, she hadn't been able to say 'Jethro,' putting an 'ff' sound where the 'th' should have been. The name had stuck.

"Nah, it's my fault, kiddo," Gibbs said. Suddenly he wanted to be anywhere but here, in front of this little girl who'd done nothing wrong and who was looking at him like he'd kicked her puppy. He slid sideways out of the booth and stood.

"I'll be outside," he said and strode across the restaurant. As he stepped into the vestibule, he looked back. Emily was leaning into her father's side, Fornell's arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

Gibbs spent 15 minutes leaning on a Washington Post newspaper box, feeling like crap physically and emotionally before Fornell pushed through the door. Emily was walking beside him, holding his hand.

"Dad says you're not feeling well," she said when they reached him. "I know when I'm not feeling well, I don't like to have people around too much. Unless they're taking care of me." She cocked her head and peered up at him: "Is someone taking care of you?"

Gibbs smiled despite himself. "Yes."

"Good. Maybe we can try lunch again next week when you're better?"

"That'd be nice," Gibbs said. "Might take a little longer than a week before I feel better, though."

"That's okay. Whenever you're ready."

"Thanks," Gibbs said.

"Is it okay if I give you a hug?" she asked.

"I'd like that, Em," he said. She tentatively reached out for him. Gibbs enveloped her in his arms and held her against him for a long moment.

***N*C*I*S***

Fornell woke when Gibbs kicked him in the shin. His eyes popped open and he turned to look that way. Gibbs was lying on his side facing Fornell, as he had been when he fell asleep – Fornell checked his watch in the dark – three hours ago. It was just past one a.m. As he watched, he saw the nightmare Gibbs was having reflected on his face. Gibbs twitched again, his leg kicking out. Fornell jerked out of the way in time. A small cry escaped.

"Jethro?" Fornell said in a normal voice. Whispering hadn't been working up until now. Gibbs gasped, held his breath.

"Wake up, Jethro," Fornell repeated, and Gibbs' eyes opened. He blinked rapidly several times, then released the breath he was holding.

"You awake?" Fornell asked, and Gibbs nodded. He lay still for a moment, breathing hard, then suddenly rolled away and lurched off the bed. He dashed for the bathroom and a moment later there was the sound of retching. Fornell sat up and followed.

After dropping Emily back at school, the men had called it a day and gone home. Gibbs would have to check his new gun – and talk to McGee – when he could stand up without feeling like he was about to collapse.

Fornell had decided to just ignore Gibbs' outburst at lunch. He could tell Gibbs felt bad enough about it without him piling on. Gibbs had gone immediately up to bed without even removing his shoes or unholstering his new sidearm. Fornell had followed him. Without comment, he'd leaned down and pulled the weapon free, releasing and pocketing the clip before leaving the gun on the nightstand. Next he'd pried off Gibbs' shoes and leaned down to kiss his temple before leaving him alone.

Gibbs spent the rest of the day lying as still as possible on the bed. Hours later, Fornell had made stew for dinner. Since Gibbs wasn't eating much anyway, Fornell decided the thick stew broth would work for Gibbs and Fornell could enjoy some real food. Gibbs had sat up in bed to try and eat but only managed to sip a little before his stomach rebelled and he pushed the rest away. He'd taken his evening meds – including a Vicodin and an anti-nausea pill – with as little water as he could and they'd stayed down but it was close. The nausea medication had helped and by 9:00 Gibbs was stable enough to fall asleep. Fornell had sat up reading beside him for several hours after. His lack of activity today had left him with a lot of unburned energy and it had taken him until nearly midnight before he was ready to turn out the lights. He hadn't been down long when Gibbs woke him.

In the bathroom, Gibbs was sitting on the toilet with the small trash can in his lap, the trash dumped out in a pile on the floor. Fornell crouched in front of him and rested a hand on his knee to wait out the spasms. When they stopped, Gibbs held out the can. Fornell took it and rinsed it in the shower while Gibbs took care of his business and flushed.

"You okay?" Fornell asked and Gibbs nodded. Fornell wet a washcloth in the sink and handed it to Gibbs who used it to wipe his face. He was sweating.

"Want some water?" Fornell asked. Gibbs nodded again and Fornell filled the bathroom glass. Gibbs rinsed his mouth and leaned sideways to spit in the sink. After a minute, he drank a mouthful which almost immediately led to more gagging. He quickly shoved the glass back into Fornell's hand and Fornell slipped the trash can under his chin. Nothing came up.

Gibbs spent another 10 minutes in the bathroom before Fornell helped him bodily back to the bed, bringing the trash can with them. Gibbs laid curled up on his side facing the edge of the bed and tried to breathe shallowly. Fornell leaned over him and wiped his face with a cool cloth.

"How's your pain?" Fornell asked softly.

"Fine," Gibbs said. "Stomach hurts."

"Want to try another nausea pill?" he asked.

"Won't stay down," Gibbs said. He breathed slowly in through his nose, out through gently pursed lips.

Fornell took a seat on the edge of the bed in front of Gibbs' feet. He laid a hand on Gibbs' upturned thigh and rubbed it gently.

Ten minutes later, Gibbs' stomach rolled again. Fornell was up in a flash, holding the trash can under Gibbs while he helped him to the toilet. Gibbs just managed to get his pants down before diarrhea flowed like water. A small amount of yellow mucus landed in the trash can. After several minutes, Gibbs nodded and once again Fornell helped him get back to bed.

The pattern repeated over and over. Bed, rest, nausea, bathroom, void top and bottom, clean up, back to bed. Twice Gibbs didn't make it to the toilet in time. The first time Fornell helped him get clean and into fresh pajamas. The second time, Gibbs didn't bother redressing, just pulled on the bathrobe over his t-shirt. Fornell stayed with him, trying to comfort him any way he could. After two tortuous hours, Gibbs told him to go to his own bed.

"It's okay, Jethro. I'm fine," Fornell said.

"I can handle this, Tobias," Gibbs insisted. "Go to sleep."

Fornell considered him. "I don't mind staying," he said.

"I don't want you to," Gibbs said.

Fornell stared for a second, then nodded. He didn't want to leave. But he understood his old friend better than Jethro probably suspected. Gibbs needed to exert some control over this situation. Not because he didn't want to look weak in front of Fornell, but because at the heart of Jethro's ability to function was his need to be in control.

"I'll be down the hall. You need me, you call out."

"I'm fine," Gibbs repeated.

Fornell leaned down and brushed a kiss against Gibbs' sweaty forehead.

"I'll be down the hall," he said again and turned away.

Fornell left the room and headed for his own. He didn't stay there. Instead, he grabbed a pillow and returned to the hall. He tossed the pillow on the floor next to Gibbs' bedroom door and lowered himself onto it. He wasn't tired, and he wanted to be close. He could sit here and Gibbs would never know unless he came out of the room. Considering Gibbs' condition, Fornell knew that wasn't likely. He would be close enough to respond in a moment if something went wrong and still give Gibbs the illusion of control.

***N*C*I*S***

Fornell sat leaning against the wall as night gradually turned to dawn. Every time Gibbs stumbled out of bed, Fornell's heart squeezed a little. He listened to Gibbs' heaving stomach, the diarrhea flowing out, his occasional groan of misery or pain, his labored breathing. Fornell desperately wanted to be in there holding his love's hand. He understood why he wasn't. Didn't make it any easier to sit out here and do nothing.

As the hours passed, Fornell drifted a little. Coming fully awake every time he heard more retching, sliding into something like sleep when Gibbs was safely back in bed. Sometime shortly after light began spilling through the window at the end of the hall, Fornell heard a thud in the bathroom and jumped to his feet.

Gibbs was lying curled up tight on the bath mat, breath coming fast and shallow. A bottle of pills was spilled onto the floor beside him along with the empty bathroom glass and a small puddle of yellow vomit.

"Jethro, how many pills did you take?" Fornell asked, his mind instantly going somewhere he didn't want it to. He stepped over Gibbs and grabbed the pill bottle, holding it out at arm's length to read the small print. It was the anti-nausea medication. Not Vicodin, not sleeping pills.

"Call Ducky," Gibbs croaked. Fornell looked at the vomit: It was clear liquid with one white pill in it. Gibbs had tried to take a dose of the medication. That's all.

"Okay," Fornell said, his relief palpable. "Hang on." He grabbed Gibbs' cell off the closer nightstand and found the right speed dial even as he returned to the bathroom.

* * *

To be continued.

_BTW: Those questions Gibbs had to answer? They really do ask that stuff when you get an occupational blood exposure. Only they ask it in an interview so they can tell if you're lying. Yucky. :)_


	15. Chapter 15

**Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 15**

**by HidingInSight**

* * *

The ME answered on the third ring.

"Gibbs is sick, told me to call you," Fornell said as soon as the older man identified himself.

"What are his symptoms?" Ducky asked.

"He's been throwing up all night," Fornell said. "Breathing's fast and shallow. Pulse is..." Fornell crouched down and pressed two fingers against Gibbs' carotid artery. After a ten-count, he answered. "Fast, but regular. Hard to find. Maybe his pressure's low?"

"Does he have a fever?" Ducky asked.

"He's warm, but not hot," Fornell said. He smoothed Gibbs' hair. "He tried to take the nausea medication, but couldn't keep it down."

"Is he fully conscious?"

"Yes," Fornell said.

"Is he oriented?"

"I think so."

"Find out. Ask him his name, the year, where he is. It's important."

Fornell did, getting slow but correct answers. "He's oriented," Fornell reported. "Should I call the medics?" On hearing that, Gibbs reached for him with a negative sound. Fornell took his hand. It was trembling slightly.

"Is he sweating?" Ducky asked instead of answering.

"Not really." Fornell felt at the t-shirt Gibbs was still wearing. It was damp. "Is that sweat or water, Jethro?" he asked.

"Sweat," Gibbs ground out. He started gagging again, his whole body wracking with spasms, a little more of the water he'd tried to drink coming up.

"His shirt is damp, but his skin is dry," Fornell said.

"It sounds like he's dehydrated. I don't think the medics are necessary at this point unless he wants them," Ducky said. "I'm going to send someone to help."

Fornell stood and moved out to the bedroom. "You can't come?" he asked, his voice lowered.

"Unfortunately, no," he replied. "I have to testify at a trial this morning in Norfolk and I'm well on my way there now. I'll send someone I trust."

Ducky took a breath. "In the meantime, keep him lying down as much as possible. If his blood pressure is low, he might pass out if he tries to stand. If his fever spikes, he gets disoriented, or his respirations become significantly labored, call 9-1-1. Also, check his pulse every 10 minutes and call the medics if it becomes at all irregular. Cool his skin with lukewarm cloths, and see if you can get him to suck on ice chips."

"Ice chips? Where the hell am I supposed to get ice chips?" Fornell asked.

"Make some. Use a hammer. I'm sure Jethro's got one," Ducky said, and Fornell could swear the doctor was smiling. "It likely looks more serious than it is, Agent Fornell. Just keep an eye on him. Help will be there soon."

Fornell hung up and returned to the bathroom. He set the phone on the counter and soaked several washcloths, then crouched in front of Gibbs.

"He coming?" Gibbs asked. His voice was dry and harsh. Fornell shook his head. He laid one cloth on Gibbs' forehead, another around the back of his neck and used a third to wipe Gibbs' face.

"He's in Norfolk. He's sending help. Someone he says he trusts."

Gibbs nodded a little. He was clearly trying to slow his breathing. Fornell wiped up the vomit and scooped up the fallen pills.

"Can you make it back to the bed?" Fornell asked.

Gibbs said nothing for a moment, then nodded once. "With help," he said.

"Are you still having diarrhea?" Fornell asked.

"Not for a couple hours. Nothing left."

"Ducky said you're probably dehydrated."

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed.

"You ready?" he asked. When Gibbs again nodded, Fornell helped Gibbs sit up. Gibbs closed his eyes against an obvious wave of dizziness and grabbed Fornell's arms to keep from falling forward.

"How'd you end up on the floor?" Fornell asked while Gibbs stabilized. "Did you fall?"

"Not really." Gibbs' negative head shake was still small. He kept his eyes closed. Fornell figured it must be making him dizzy to move his head.

"Not really?" Fornell asked.

"Got dizzy. Went to my knees. Kind of leaned over from there."

"Did you hit your head?"

"No."

"You sure? I heard a thud," Fornell said.

"Shoulder," Gibbs said.

"Okay. Does it help to keep your eyes closed?"

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed.

"Do it. I'll watch."

Fornell pulled Gibbs to his feet, holding him tightly. Gibbs was weak, worse than he'd been at the emergency room after... So bad that Fornell was practically carrying him. He sat his partner on the bed and held him with one hand while he pulled the top of the robe off his arms and stripped off his wet t-shirt, then slipped Gibbs' arms back into the robe and helped him lie down. The movement made Gibbs sick again and he gagged up the last dribbles of water. Fornell did his best to soothe him.

"You think you can suck on some ice?" he asked when Gibbs was still. Gibbs shrugged, his eyes still closed.

"I'm gonna get some. Stay there." Fornell pulled the sheet up over him and hurried out.

Fornell went down to the basement, picking a small hammer off the tool rack. He returned to the kitchen and quickly filled a plastic bag with ice cubes. He laid the bag on the butcher block, placed a hand towel on top of it, and smashed the cubes into chips. Satisfied the pieces were small enough, he returned to the second floor. Gibbs hadn't moved.

"Here, try this," Fornell said. He scooped a small chunk of ice out of the bag and slipped it into Gibbs' mouth. The navy man sucked on it. Fornell checked his pulse again. A little faster than it had been but still regular. His skin was still warmer than Fornell liked, and Gibbs still wasn't sweating.

"You have a thermometer around here?" he asked.

"Not since Kelly. Don't get sick," Gibbs said. Fornell had to smile.

"You're doing a pretty damn good impression of a sick man, my friend."

"Side effects," Gibbs said.

"Of course. That's different," he said. He sat on the edge of the bed.

Half an hour later by the nightstand clock, there was a knock on the front door. Gibbs had managed to eat only a few ice chips. He didn't want the vomiting to start again and was taking it very slowly. Fornell left the ice bag on the floor and descended to the main level.

A man in Navy working blues was standing on the front porch. He was tall but thin, his face long and narrow with a prominent jaw. He was wearing an eight-point cap and had the wide strap of a bag over one shoulder. Fornell glanced at himself, making sure he was presentable, and pulled open the door.

"I'm here to see Special Agent Gibbs," the man said.

"And you are?" he asked.

"Ian Goetz," he said. "Dr. Mallard sent me."

"Fornell. Come on in," he said and stepped out of the way. Goetz moved into the house.

"He's upstairs," Fornell said and gestured the man ahead. Goetz climbed the stairs, turning sideways slightly so the large bag didn't hit the walls of the narrow stairway. A logo on top of the bag identified it as a Navy medical jump kit.

Goetz pulled off his cap, shoving it in a pocket as he turned through the bedroom doorway.

"Okay to turn the light on?" he asked. When Fornell approved, he hit the wall switch and the overheads came on.

Without raising his head, Gibbs looked to see who had come in. He stared for a moment before his eyes widened in recognition.

"Good morning, Special Agent Gibbs. Somebody call for a Corpsman?" the medic asked. He put his bag on the floor next to the bed.

"Senior Chief," Gibbs said. His voice was more normal with the lubrication his throat was getting from the ice.

"What's the situation?" he asked. He crouched down and unzipped the bag.

"What did Dr. Mallard tell you?" Fornell asked.

"Vomiting since last night, probably dehydrated, secondary to ARVs he's taking for blood exposure."

"That's the situation," Fornell said. "Also diarrhea that stopped a couple hours ago."

"How many days have you been taking the ARVs?"

"Three days," Gibbs said.

"Sounds about right," Goetz said. "Let's see where you're at." Goetz pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He picked up Gibbs' available wrist and felt for a pulse. After several attempts, he replaced Gibbs' hand and reached for his neck instead.

"Any internal damage here?" he asked when he got a look at the bruises.

"No," Fornell said. Goetz nodded and reached for Gibbs' pulse, finding it easily.

"A little fast. Not too bad." He took a blood pressure kit out of his bag, wrapped the cuff around Gibbs' bicep and slipped the stethoscope into his ears. Quickly pumping it up, he listened as it began to deflate. He pumped it back up slightly twice before fully releasing the pressure.

"Pretty low," he said. He pulled back the sheet, frowning a little when Gibbs flinched. Goetz hesitated for a moment. When no further objection was forthcoming, he reached through the open robe to place the head of his stethoscope on Gibbs' chest, listening in four places. He slipped the stethoscope down the back neck of the robe and listened in four more places.

"Lungs are clear. That's good." He pulled the stethoscope out of his ears and hung it around his neck.

A small kit came out of the medical bag next. Goetz unzipped it, removing and setting up a blood sugar meter. He cleaned one of Gibbs' fingers with an alcohol swab and efficiently poked him, squeezing out a small drop of blood which he applied to a test strip inserted into the meter. Five seconds later, the machine beeped.

"Blood sugar's low," he commented.

"He hasn't had much to eat in the last couple days," Fornell said.

"Okay," Goetz said. "We'll see about that in a bit." He retrieved a temporal scanner from his bag and ran it back and forth across Gibbs' forehead.

"100.1," Goetz said. "Low grade fever."

"Could it be an infection?" Fornell asked.

"Maybe. Did the exposure come from an injury?"

"Yes," Gibbs said.

"How long ago?"

"Tuesday," Fornell said.

"Did they start you on antibiotics right away?"

"Yes," Gibbs said.

"Probably not an infection, then, though Dr. Mallard did ask me to submit samples for a blood panel. What's your biggest complaint right now, Gibbs?"

"Nausea. Dry," Gibbs said. "Been real shaky."

"It probably is just dehydration. It's hard to keep enough fluids down when those ARVs start beating up on you. I'm gonna start some IVs, get you some fluids and get some Reglan on board. That'll help."

"Is he going to need a hospital?" Fornell asked.

"Let's not go there yet," Goetz said. "We'll do this first. You wanna help?"

With Fornell playing medical assistant, Goetz started an IV in the big vein in Gibbs' right forearm. He drew blood into several tubes and set them on the bed before connecting a bag of fluid. He opened the flow wide and had Fornell hold the bag high. Goetz tried to start a second IV in Gibbs' left arm, but his dehydration had made the lesser-developed veins on that side collapse and he gave up after three attempts.

"I gotta put this one in your neck, Gibbs. Try to be still." He brought his equipment to the head of the bed and worked quickly to get the IV going in the jugular vein at the side of Gibbs' neck, just up from where the nurse had done the same a few days before. Gibbs flinched at the pressure against the bruises. "Sorry," Goetz said.

When both IVs were flowing freely into Gibbs' veins, he removed a vial from a med kit and drew up a small amount of fluid. He pinched off the line in Gibbs' neck and injected the medication, then let the flow restart. He retook both bags and had Fornell bring him a pair of empty hangers from the closet, then used the hangers to suspend the bags from the ceiling light fixture.

"It shouldn't take long," Goetz said when he was satisfied. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Go ahead," Gibbs said, waving a hand vaguely at the rocking chair in the corner between the bed and the bath. Goetz went first to the bathroom, taking off his gloves and turning on the water to wash his hands.

Fornell sat on the edge of the bed next to Gibbs. "You doing alright?" he asked.

"Yeah," Gibbs said. "Feel weird."

"Weird?" Fornell asked.

"Weird," Gibbs confirmed, but didn't expound any further. Fornell rested his hand on Gibbs' back, rubbing small circles through the covering cloth.

When Goetz returned, his eyes swept across the two men without comment and he moved to the rocking chair.

"Thanks for coming," Gibbs said.

"You're welcome," Goetz said. "Though I admit it was a little refreshing to get a call from NCIS that didn't involve a demand to appear for interrogation."

Gibbs gave a vague smile and closed his eyes again. Senior Chief Corpsman Ian Goetz had been a person of interest in two homicides of sailors ten years apart, both of which he'd eventually been cleared. During Gibbs' interrogation of him in connection with the second death, Goetz had been forced to give up a deeply-held secret in order to alibi himself. Upon hearing the career sailor was gay, Gibbs had moved to ensure that particular secret remained so.

Gibbs wondered why Ducky had chosen Goetz. For that matter, why Ducky had even known to call him. Ducky had taken a special interest in the first homicide, which led him to be more involved that strictly necessary in the second. Still, Gibbs hadn't been aware the doctor even knew Goetz, much less knew him well enough to ask him to help in a situation like this. On the other hand, Gibbs had long ago learned that Ducky's influence was broad and far-reaching.

Goetz watched the men on the bed, his mind working on what he had seen in the bathroom and what he was seeing now. He had wondered when he'd seen the condition Gibbs was in what had gotten him. Gibbs was one of the toughest SOBs he knew. By the look of those bruises on his neck, someone had tried awfully hard to kill him. The bandages on his wrists probably hid abrasions or cuts, which meant... what? And what was up with the way he'd flinched on being touched?

When the door had been answered by a man in pajamas, Goetz hadn't given it a second thought. It was a big house. When he'd noticed the book, reading glasses, cell phone – and handgun – on the nightstand on the far side of the bed, coupled with a second set of glasses, cell phone and wallet on the near nightstand, he'd realized he was looking at a room shared by two. Add that to the way Fornell was hovering over Gibbs, and the situation solidified: Gibbs and this man Fornell were a couple. That fact alone didn't bother him. Surprised him, but didn't bother him. But when he'd gone into the bathroom and seen supplies for a medicated douche and antibiotic cream, his medical training and personal experience connected the dots and he knew what had happened to Gibbs.

Goetz had been frankly intimidated by Gibbs the first time they'd met. Of course, Gibbs had held his career in his hands at the time. One word from the Special Agent to anyone in the Navy and Goetz would have been dishonorably discharged, his life destroyed. Instead, Gibbs had kept his word and kept Goetz's secret. A year and a half later, Gibbs and his team had been responsible for stopping a terrorist attack at Goetz's own Norfolk homecoming. It had been a sobering experience to realize that had Gibbs not been there, Goetz's own life and the lives of many of the people he loved might have ended that day in May. He knew he owed Gibbs not only his career, but his life.

Which was why he'd immediately detoured from his morning routine to answer Ducky's call for help. He was originally planning to just stop in and make a decision whether or not a trip to the hospital was required. Now, he had a tougher decision to make.

"You wouldn't happen to have any coffee around here, would you?" Goetz asked suddenly. Fornell looked up at him, glanced down at Gibbs' closed eyes and relaxed face, and nodded.

"I could make some."

"I'd appreciate it," Goetz said. "Black, two sugars."

"I'll be back," Fornell said, and with a final pat on Gibbs' shoulder, he stood.

Goetz waited until he heard Fornell's footsteps fade before he spoke again.

"Who's he?" he asked.

"A friend," Gibbs said after a moment.

"A friend who shares your bed?" Goetz asked. Gibbs opened his eyes and looked over at Goetz. He stared at the sailor for a moment, remembered the secret about this man he still held, and shrugged.

"Sometimes," Gibbs said. Goetz nodded.

"You haven't been out very long," Goetz stated. Goetz was certain he would have heard if that had become public knowledge. The suspension of 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' and the Navy's attempts at integrating gays and lesbians into its ranks made any high profile coming out front page news in Stars and Stripes. Gibbs' wasn't in the Navy, but his profile in the Capitol Region was still pretty high. "Is he your first?"

"Why?" Gibbs asked.

"Some men make bad choices at first," Goetz said. "Get in over their heads."

Gibbs frowned at him, shook his head a little, said nothing.

"He like it rough?" he asked. Gibbs' frown deepened.

"That's none of your business, Senior," Gibbs said.

"I bet he does," Goetz said. "Does he stop when you safe word? Do you even have a safe word?"

"What are you talking about?" Gibbs asked.

Goetz felt his blood heat. Gibbs was new to man on man sex, new to the intricacies of rough sex and – judging by the bruises on his throat and what were probably bondage injuries on his wrists – didn't know enough to say 'no.'

Standing suddenly, Goetz moved around the bed behind Gibbs and picked up the gun. He checked to be sure the safety was on and stuck it in his waistband.

"Never mind. It's nothing. I'll be back in a few minutes."

* * *

To be continued.


	16. Chapter 16

**Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 16**

**by HidingInSight**

* * *

On the main floor, Fornell was standing over the coffee machine, watching it drip. Goetz stopped in the archway to the kitchen and drew the gun. He held it out, but down.

"You need to leave," Goetz said. Fornell turned to look at him and saw the gun in his hand.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded. "Give me that." Fornell took a step toward him and Goetz brought the gun up. Fornell stopped, hands hanging at his sides.

"Put on some shoes and leave. Now," Goetz said.

"Why?" Fornell asked, not moving. He kept his eyes on Goetz's face, watching the gun out of his peripheral vision. He could see the safety was still on. Nonetheless, he could tell by the way Goetz held the weapon that the Corpsman knew what he was doing.

"I'm not going to let you stay here and keep hurting him," Goetz said.

"Hurting him?" Fornell echoed.

"Consensual means both players get to say no," Goetz said. "He's so new at this he doesn't even know about safe words." The gun was solid in his hand. "Then you ride him so hard you tear him? Without even using a condom? You ought to be arrested for attempted murder."

"What are you talking about?" Fornell said, his voice rising.

"For God's sake, you're HIV positive and you exposed him!" Goetz shouted back. "He may be willing to let you stay, but I'm not. Now get out."

Fornell stared at him, then suddenly started laughing.

"You think this is funny?" Goetz demanded and flipped the safety off. Fornell waved a hand, sobering.

"Yeah, it is," he said. "Or it would be if the situation wasn't so damn serious. You think I did that to him?"

"You're the one sharing his bed," Goetz said.

"So it must have been me," Fornell said. "Couldn't possibly have been, oh, I don't know, the son of a bitch he was hunting who's been responsible for the rapes of more than a dozen men and women over the past few months?"

Goetz stared at him. The gun was still up. "He was raped on duty?"

"Yes," Fornell said. "On Tuesday afternoon. Now put the damn gun down."

Goetz adjusted his grip, but didn't lower the weapon.

"I want to hear it from him," Goetz said.

"Fine. Let's go ask him," Fornell said.

"You go first," Goetz said. He stepped sideways out of Fornell's way, keeping the gun up. Fornell moved past him.

"You mind putting the safety on?" Fornell asked as they headed for the stairs. If you trip, I don't wanna get shot."

"Go," Goetz said, but he flipped the safety back into position.

They went up the stairs, Goetz a few steps behind.

"He's not going to be happy you figured it out," Fornell said quietly as they reached the top landing. "He's trying to keep it on the DL."

"If it's true, no one'll hear it from me," Goetz said. They turned into the bedroom. Gibbs had closed his eyes once again.

"Jethro," Fornell called. Gibbs looked up. For a second, he could make no sense out of what he was seeing. Then, he jerked as if physically shocked. He pushed himself upright, swaying a little.

"What the hell?" he said.

"Your friend here thinks I..." Fornell began, and Goetz cut him off.

"Did he hurt you?" Goetz asked.

"Hurt me?" Gibbs repeated.

"Yeah," Goetz said, waving his free hand vaguely at Gibbs.

"No," Gibbs said.

"How'd you get hurt?"

"On the job," Gibbs said. "What are you doing?"

"It wasn't him?" Goetz asked.

"No," Gibbs said with a tone and look that said 'are you insane?'

"Okay," Goetz said. He lowered the gun, flipped it over in his hand, and held it out to Fornell butt first.

"Sorry for the misunderstanding," Goetz said.

Fornell took the gun. "Misunderstanding," he repeated. "You hold me at gunpoint with my own damn gun and you call it a 'misunderstanding'?" He set the weapon on the dresser.

"Yes. I saw the medications in the bathroom, knew he hadn't been with men very long... then he wouldn't give me a straight answer about the two of you."

"So you jumped to conclusions," Fornell said.

"Sorry," he said again.

"If you weren't here to help, I'd kick your ass for accusing me of... that," Fornell said.

Goetz shrugged. "I don't know you. I had to be sure he'd be okay," he said. "I did what I had to do." He turned his attention to Gibbs.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. He pushed past Fornell toward the bed. Gibbs looked at Fornell, who shook his head in exasperation.

"Getting better," Gibbs said. "Still dizzy."

"Why don't you lay back down." Gibbs did, wincing a little at a minor twinge of pain.

"How's the nausea?"

"Better," Gibbs said. Goetz checked the IV bags, noting they were both about one-third gone.

"Good." He looked back to Fornell. "How about that coffee?" he asked.

Fornell stared at him, incredulous. "Really?"

"I'd appreciate it," Goetz said.

"I oughta make you get it yourself," Fornell grumbled.

"Go," Gibbs said. With a sigh, Fornell headed downstairs again.

"You could have asked me," Gibbs said to Goetz. The Corpsman again sat on the rocker.

"I did. You said you didn't know what I was talking about."

Gibbs frowned, reviewing the short conversation they'd had before Goetz went downstairs.

"Would have been better to ask outright."

"You might have denied it," Goetz said. "Victims of domestic violence often do. Especially male victims. I asked if you used a safe word and if he honored it, and you said you didn't know what I was talking about." Goetz paused. "You do know what a safe word is, right?"

Gibbs gave a small smile. "Yes, Dad, I know what a safe word is."

"Good. I didn't want to have to have 'the talk' with you." Goetz's face turned serious. "How badly are you hurt?"

"Doctor says it'll all heal in a week or two," Gibbs said.

"Are you in much pain?" he asked.

"It's not bad," Gibbs said. "The nausea was the worst of it."

"When did you last take Vicodin?" He'd seen that on the bath counter, too.

"Before bed last night." Goetz nodded again. He said nothing for a few minutes.

"Are you talking to someone?" he asked finally.

"Talking to him," he said.

"You need to talk to a professional," Goetz said. "Rape is more than a physical attack."

Gibbs nodded. "I know," he said.

"It's not something you can muscle through."

"I know that, too," Gibbs said.

Goetz nodded. "There's a support group at Bethesda for military men who've survived sexual assault. They meet weekly. I could get the information for you if you'd like."

Gibbs was surprised, and his face showed it. "It happens that often?" he asked.

"More often than most people realize," Goetz said. "I don't know how many attend, but they use a room that seats 30."

After a moment, Gibbs nodded. "Yeah. That might be good."

Fornell reappeared with two mugs of coffee. He handed one to Goetz and sat on the end of the bed with the other. Gibbs inhaled deeply, pulling in the aromatic brew.

"How long's it been since you had coffee?" Goetz asked, noticing his response.

"Day before yesterday," Gibbs said.

"Caffeine withdrawal might explain some of this, too," Goetz said seriously. "How much do you usually drink?"

"A lot," Gibbs said.

"You should drink some as soon as you can keep fluids down," Goetz said. "Caffeine addiction's no joke."

Gibbs nodded. He realized his stomach had finally settled. He wasn't ready to drink anything yet, mostly because he didn't want the absence of nausea to end too soon.

On the night stand, Fornell's phone alarm went off. Fornell got up and went around to stop it.

"He's supposed to take the ARVs at 7:00," Fornell explained.

"Let's wait on that," Goetz said. "I don't want to put anything into his stomach until we're sure the Reglan's done its thing. Another half hour won't make a difference."

While the bags of fluid drained into Gibbs' veins, the men sat mostly in stiff silence. Fornell was clearly grumpy, still put off by Goetz's accusations. Though he understood why the Corpsman had done what he did, it rankled. Goetz was ignoring him, watching his patient. For his part, Gibbs was too tired to bother dealing with the temperature in the room. He turned his focus inward to his rapidly recovering body, drifting a little. He thought he could actually feel his cells absorbing the fluid, stabilizing, returning to normal. The coffee was starting to smell more and more attractive.

By the time the bags were empty, Gibbs felt almost back to himself. Goetz took his vitals again finding everything to be within normal limits, and had him sit up. There was no headrush, no dizziness.

"How do you feel?" Goetz asked.

"Good," Gibbs said. "Better than in days."

"Any dizziness?"

"No."

"Nausea gone?"

"Yes," Gibbs said.

"Good. But don't get excited. It won't last." Goetz took his blood pressure and pulse once more. Satisfied nothing had changed with his change in elevation, Goetz put his equipment away and starting pulling out the IVs.

"The next couple of days are probably gonna be pretty bad. Take the Reglan four times a day until Monday. Then you can back off and see how you feel. It should keep the nausea away enough so you can keep food and your other meds down. Try and eat, even if you don't feel like it. You're gonna need the calories. And drink as much fluid as you can tolerate. You don't want to get this far gone again."

"Understood," Gibbs said.

"You should eat something now, get your blood sugar up."

"I'll make something," Fornell said.

"Good. It should be safe to take your meds now. Take a reglan, too. It won't hurt you."

Goetz applied pressure to the IV wound at Gibbs' neck while Gibbs folded his elbow up over the one on his arm. When both were clotted, Goetz tossed the empty IV bags, tubing and his gloves into the bathroom trash and washed his hands once more.

"You need me again, give me a call," Goetz said. He turned to Fornell. "Sorry again for the misunderstanding."

"Sure," Fornell said. Gibbs made a small sound of reproach. "Thanks for coming," Fornell added.

"Anytime." Goetz said. He reached for his bag, but Fornell beat him to it.

"I got it," the fed said, and Goetz let him. The two men left the room.

Gibbs took advantage of his improved condition to return to the bathroom. He ran water to brush his teeth. This time, it was the taste of stomach acid and vomit he was trying to get rid of.

Fornell returned to the bedroom and stepped into the bath with Gibbs' morning pills in hand. "Here," he said, and set the pills on the counter. Gibbs nodded and spat toothpaste in the sink.

"You wanna do the other now?" Fornell asked.

"Shower first," Gibbs said as he rinsed. He parked his toothbrush in the holder and filled the bathroom glass with water.

"Eat first," Fornell said. "Don't want you passing out in the shower from lack of food." Gibbs nodded again and started tossing back the pills. He still had no appetite, but he knew he should eat while he could. Which reminded him: He pried the top off the bottle of anti-nausea pills and took one of those, too.

Back in the kitchen, Gibbs popped the top on a meal shake and Fornell made toast with butter. He put two slices in front of Gibbs. The three days of liquid diet were technically not over until this afternoon, but he figured it was close enough. If Jethro was ready to eat, Fornell wanted to take advantage of it. Gibbs ate, enjoying the toast far more than he should have. Fornell offered something more. Gibbs declined, for now. He did accept his first cup of coffee in almost two days, though.

"So, who was he?" Fornell asked when he settled at the table with his own toast and coffee.

"Who?" Gibbs said.

"The Corpsman," Fornell said.

"Guy we looked at for a murder a couple years back," Gibbs said.

"How'd you clear him?" Fornell asked.

"He had an alibi."

"Must have been a doozy," Fornell said.

"Told me he was spending the night with his lover," Gibbs said.

"That's it?" Fornell asked, frowning his lack of understanding.

"His male lover," Gibbs added.

"Ah," Fornell said.

"I asked, he told," Gibbs said. "Reluctantly. Killer turned out to be someone else."

"And you haven't talked to him since?" Fornell asked.

"Nope," Gibbs said.

Fornell ate another piece of toast.

"How do you do it, Jethro?" he asked when it was gone.

"What?" Gibbs drained his shake. He was pleased to notice he didn't feel any dizziness when he tipped his head back. He straightened back up and looked across the table.

"How do you instill such loyalty in people?" Fornell asked. "More than 20 years in the Bureau, and I can't think of anyone who'd go to bat for me like he just did. The guy was ready to shoot me."

Gibbs shrugged. He'd never given it much thought, really. "He's a Senior Chief Corpsman," he said. "He's spent his entire career stepping up. It's in his blood." He tried to deflect the question.

Fornell shook his head. "No, it was more than that. He was acting like DiNozzo or McGee would. Like he owed you something."

"He does," Gibbs said. "He's still in the Navy. He told me he was gay five years before they repealed DADT."

"But it's not just him. Everyone who works for you, everyone you do business with, hell, everyone you've ever met who's not on the wrong side of an investigation thinks you're golden."

"Got three ex-wives who'd beg to differ," Gibbs pointed out.

Fornell sighed. "You're not gonna answer the question, are you?"

"I got no answer," Gibbs said. "You know me. I'm a bastard more often than not. I don't even know why Chief Goetz came. He must owe Ducky something."

"Doesn't explain why he jumped to your defense," Fornell said.

"What can I say? He's got a soft spot for victims," Gibbs said. He pushed back from the table and stood. "I'm gonna take a shower."

Fornell let him go. He hadn't really expected an answer. He honestly wasn't sure why he'd asked the question, except maybe out of some dim hope that Jethro would open up a little. Jethro and public introspection had never been friends. What he felt, he felt privately. That wasn't going to work for him this time, Fornell knew. But damned if he knew what would.

* * *

To be continued.


End file.
